Potter's Wedding
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: It's the wedding of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, where Hermione is the slightly unwilling bridesmaid. However, when Draco Malfoy appear, her night, and her life, go from a dull kind of simple, to extraordinary in a real life kind of way. AU. Muggledom.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! This is my new story! It is the day of Harry and Ginny's wedding! Draco will come in later in the story, but for now, I hope you these next couple of chapters and the little world I have set up for the purpose of continued love and adoration for the characters!**

 **This is a Muggledom story, so Hogwarts is a prestigious boarding school in Scotland, where Hermione gained a scholarship to study there.**

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 **Chapter One**

 _ **Hermione**_

 _On the day of the funeral, many of his past students attended, including Albus Dumbledore's godson, Tom Riddle. Riddle, the drastically handsome bachelor brought up in London, had only a few words to say of the situation, accompanied by his long-term girlfriend, Alyssa Robertson. He stated that, "Albus Dumbledore was both a brilliant and a good man, inside and outside of the school. He will be greatly missed in my case, and I am sure in many others." Riddle also answered a question about the state of the school and that the previous Headmaster would be replaced by Minerva McGonnagoll, his long-time Deputy._

 _Very few other attendees wished to comment on the tragedy which that day called into account. According to inside knowledge, many people in attendance were given time to say a few words and the length of the funeral was changed to accommodate. Additionally, Harry Potter is said to have delivered a short eulogy - as per Riddle's request - but he was unavailable for comment after the funeral. He was accompanied by fellow class-mates, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and his fiancée, Givevra Weasley._

 _Albus' brother, Aberforth, commented that the event was "what Albus deserved," and that the "whole thing was rather brilliant, in a sad way." This pertains to the small party following the funeral, as more of a celebration of life than a declaration of death._

I stop reading at this point and absorb the moment. I then fold the paper in half at the centre crease, and half again so it will fit into my shoulder bag. The chair rattles beneath me as I change position to cross my legs. It clanks heftily in protest but I ignore. Instead, I think about last Thursday: the day in which I donned all black for the mourning, despite the surprisingly hot May afternoon. Not too dissimilar from today.

Harry and Ginny really did pick a good day to get married.

Halfway between the wetness of spring and the gloried and yet stifling heat of summer. Instead of glistening in raindrops, the sunlight swathes the paths and grounds all around, glinting off mental table tops in the café I sit in. Warm enough to be pleasant, but cool enough for me to have to carry the cobalt jacket laying across the arm of the chair.

Phone placed on the table, not having been sent a text since six-thirty this morning. From Ginny. It was a surprise, given my friend's dislike for such a device, and her interminable stress of the day ahead. I check the time on the phone, knowing the alternative or riffling through messages would get me nowhere, and know it is time to go.

I leave a five pound note on the table - enough to cover my bill - next to the now-cold cup of coffee.

Google maps tells me it will likely take around ten minutes to walk to the prestigious mansion on the other side of time, but maybe I can slow it to fifteen at a nice and leisurely place. Why not take advantage of the picturesque little village, shadowed by the glorious mansion on the edge. I've got the time, and then even more time after that before the festivities begin.

Harry Potter. Getting married. Who would have thought? And to Ginny Weasley? Shocker. He's always been obtuse about girls and their reasons for ridiculous behaviour, but now he's well and truly in love. With a ridiculous girl. The bold, red-headed Ginny Weasley, who was sister to our best friend, Ron. At twenty-four... Ready to settle down. Dreadfully sweet, in my opinion. Ron is not so sure.

However, I have been the one to endure the late nights talking with Ginny about Harry during school, and then sixth form and the years to follow. I remember her rushing over to my flat to tell me about how Harry proposed and how perfect it was and that she wanted me to be maid of honour, and I said that of course I would. She said it would be perfect because Ron would be best man and it would work well with us being together.

Not that my relationship with Ron lasted much longer, following that conversation with Ginny. Maybe a month after Harry proposed, Ron and I broke up.

Google suggest turning down a thin alley filled with crumpled beer cans and strewn rubbish. No thank you.

I skip this option and opt for a normal looking road, filled with streetlamps and absolutely a seemingly less chance of being molested. Unfortunately, the walking time increases to twelve minutes. Alas, it is no matter. I have my most comfortable shoes on and a purpose; a place to be. No beer cans, streetlamps, and no fear. Nothing can go wrong! A comforting thought. My friends would certainly agree with this course rather than Google's suggestion.

Don't trust everything you read on the internet, kids. Ha.

Fourteen short minutes later and I arrive back at the mansion-like hall I had reached earlier in the day. Before my excursion to the café to get some air and to relax before the sure-to-be-mental day ahead. Weddings are always like that. Weasley's are certainly like that as well. Bound to be a recipe for some kind of disaster. Especially with the Weasley twins - double-trouble applies, for sure.

Despite the walk being two minutes longer than Google informed, I am nowhere near late. My luggage is already sorted in my room and my dress is out. Gosh. Bridesmaid dress. I have only ever been one once before - for my Auntie Sandra when I was nine years old. That was a horrible experience. I can only hope that this day will not hold the same promises as that one had done.

Nine years old is the age when _you've grown_ and _you look so big and grown up_ and _you look so beautiful_ and old family members are allowed to comment on every aspect of your being.

Oh well.

Hopefully Ron remembered to pick up the extra few things from my apartment when they left earlier.

I walk up the long drive to the mansion, gravel crunching beneath my toes. It's not an unexpected size, you could say. Ginny having big dreams, and Harry being from a rich family - his father is rich, so, naturally, Harry is as well (not that he acts that way). The entire place is gorgeous. Harry has clearly actually splashed some cash for the special day - he dotes on Ginny accordingly, which is incredibly sweet. The Portland stone making up the mansion, and the huge proportions. Windows that glint in the soft morning sunlight, dotted innumerably over the building, in panes of nine and twelve.

Pillars stand aside the mahogany door, guards the no-doubt glamorous world inside.

I brave them and step inside for the second time today. Vanishing from in between the luscious lawns and my attention suddenly grabbed by the even more luxurious insides of the mansion. Deep red drapes over the enormous windows, glittering chandeliers adorning the ceiling, and the vast staircase to the left of the entrance.

It was much like Hogwarts. But... Wedding-ed. The grand staircase's banister is covered with a white silk stream. Vases of flowers litter the tables and window seats, ready to be put out for the momentous occasion. And this is only the entrance.

I close the door behind me. A sense of finality.

A group of several people shuffle through the room to the right into the one straight ahead, carrying carefully packed boxes. They don't spare a glance for me. Probably carrying delicate decorations so fair enough that they should be concentrating. My shoes tap on the wooden flooring as I step off from the rich purple welcome mat, which makes me feel a little self-conscious.

Everything really does look beautiful. I suppose they must have some sort of wedding planner. Harry Potter is not known for his fashion sense, and Ginny does not care for that sort of thing either. Maybe, for this occasion, they tried a little harder...? I don't know. On any other occasion, I suppose that I would expect colour clashes.

Perhaps that's just Ron. I still remember the birthday party he threw me and how he seemed to put every wrong colour in every wrong place. Sweet. Hilarious. Mocked, a lot.

At least the flowers are in variety so expel the colour I expected. I wander over to them and breathe in the strong scent. Roses, bluebells, daffodils, sunflowers. Some of those definitely are not in season in Britain. I can only imagine the cost of importing flowers. Such delicate things.

"Hermione!"

The next thing I hear is the crashing footsteps of the bride-to-be, Ginny Weasley, before I am crushed in one of those special Weasley hugs. All enveloping and completely suffocating. And utterly wonderful.

"You're here!" Ginny exclaims and takes a step back from me to look me up and down with a glorious grin spreading across her pale face. Her hair is half-up in rollers and looks a little damp, still. She has no qualms with it, though and merely beams at the current wedding-world around her.

"Maid of honour, reporting for duty," I say with a smile and Ginny laughs light-heartedly. "This place looks amazing!" Ginny laughs again and nods.

"Everyone has been so good. It really does feel like a special day." She glances briefly at the blue skies outside. "Even the weather is being good to us. It's unusually warm - we've had the windows open!" I laugh and Ginny subconsciously bounces on her toes.

"Excited?" I ask. She is dressed in a pair of jeans and button-up shirt. Presumably so she can easily get her dress on after her hair and make-up is done. She nods, reminding me of Harry and also of a puppy.

"Absolutely," she half-shouts. Then stretches out her arms and rolls her shoulders. Clearly having some sort of wave of happiness. "I am so excited, Hermione. Unfortunately," she begins in a low voice and coming closer. "I have to check on the cake before anyone can continue doing my hair!" She laughs. "Thank God the bride is always right otherwise I would not be getting my way."

"Your mum is being a bit...?" I begin, a question in my voice.

"Of a nightmare, yes?" Ginny says with a very small frown. But then she smiles again and I know it's not bothering her all that much. "The hair bit will be terribly boring, and I need to do this anyway!"

"The cake is important!" I say in mock outrage. She laughs again and reaches to hug me again.

"Right, must go!" She says, pulling away. She looks a little harried, again looking a little like her mother. With the bright eyes flitting from one spot to the next, clearly making a list inside her love-induced-happy mind.

"I'll go and put my dress on and see you in your room in a bit," I tell her, knowing I should leave her to it.

"Okay," she laughs, coming back to her senses for a moment. "I hope the boys are okay," she muses. "Would you check on them? They're probably not even ready." I nod in agreement and say my assent,

"I'll check on them and report back to you."

"Thanks a million!"

She hugs me her thanks and disappears, racing, through the doors through which the team of decorators went through earlier. I sigh in happiness and make my way over to the reception desk through several doors. The woman, Lindsey, occupying tells me the boys room number. She doesn't give me a key. That is definitely a good thing; I don't want to walk in on them getting changed or anything.

That is not a problem though.

When I reach the boys room and knock on their door, there is a vaguely manly shout before a tall red-haired man opens the door. Ronald Weasley. Wearing jeans and a stained t-shirt that I remember him being adamant that he would never wash because it was lucky. Or some other rubbish like that. _Boys are disgusting_.

"Hermione!" He shouts at me, throwing his arms wide, and not moving to hug me. I notice that he holds a beer bottle in one hand. And walk into the room, dreading the very worst. A drunk groom. I am pretty sure Ginny would kill Harry with a look if that happened. Especially as Harry was not one to drink, unlike Ron.

"Ronald," I say cheerily, the door closing behind me, and laughing a little. I call, "Harry?"

"Out here!" shouts back the voice of Harry Potter, out on the balcony that came with this room in particular. Not the Bridal Suite, but it has got to be a close second. A huge balcony, like that. And stashed with an enormous bed, comfortable chairs, and a stretching wardrobe along one side of the room. I notice that Ron has spread his clothes out already, as if he had been rummaging and been too lazy to put things back.

Unless this is his room.

His and Natalie's. Ronald's new girlfriend.

"Thank God," I murmur, laughing as I step into the sunlight that splays across the balcony. Harry reclined in a white plastic chair, holding a bottle of beer in his hand. "You're not drunk are you?" But it's Ron who answers, following me out and taking the other white plastic chair.

"Just a bit of Dutch courage, Hermione," he says, grinning. "Jeez." Then turns to Harry, the grin plastered on his features. I raise my eyebrows at Harry and he places his hands in a surrender, a drip or two or beer splashing from inside the bottle.

"Nerves," he explains quickly. "I know Gin would never forgive me if I arrived drunk." The three of us laugh shortly, thinking about the extremely fiery red-head residing downstairs currently, probably watching the cake in fascination and thinking about how she is definitely glad she never did a juice-fast. She likes food far too much - and told me this implicitly.

"Yeah, mate," Ron murmurs. "Hey, that's my sister!"

Harry and I catch eyes and both shake our heads at the wonder that is Ron Weasley. His internal dilemma that goes between being a good and protective brother, and then also being Harry's best friend and wanting to be a lad with him on occasion. It's a good thing he practically considers Harry to be a brother, anyway. So, he gets these little internal arguments about whether he wants to be the friend or the brother. And ends up just not mentioning any of it, at all.

"Bit late to protest now, Ron," I tell him. He swigs the beer. And then grins.

"Hi! Hermione!" Another voice calls to me through the quiet that is only present for a second or two. Neville Longbottom steps out into the heightening sunshine, hand covering his eyes from the light. Wearing a white t-shirt and a slightly worn pair of denim jeans. It's almost impossible to not laugh at the three of them, so clearly overly relaxed. With their beer and casual attire, absorbing the sunlight.

"Hi, Neville," I greet him amiably. Then pause and ask Harry in a curious tone, "Why are none of you getting changed yet?"

Harry is momentarily perplexed by the question. The other two don't look bothered in the slightest, Neville watching the sun rise higher in the sky and Ron sipping the drink quietly. Looking completely at ease. Harry asks,

"Should we be?" And then glances over my attire. "You're not," he accuses.

I hardly contain the eye-roll that presents itself as a great opportunity.

"Good observation," I say sarcastically, a smirk splayed across my expression. To let him know that I am definitely joking. He laughs in slight relief, knowing that he will not be told off by me _right now_. "To be fair, I only have to put on a dress, sort my make-up and hair, and calm down your fiancée."

Amusing because, while Ginny can get excitable, she does not do panicking. She is one of those calm people who will be strangely responsive in any situation. She wouldn't fret about marrying Harry like she wouldn't worry about pouring a drink of squash for her mother.

I continue, "You guys have to figure out the bow-ties, as well as do the lads mucking around, and then be ready to take photos once you're ready in... Forty five minutes?" Harry's eyes widen slightly and even Neville turns to glance at me, a trace of worry in his expression. Even Ron sits up straighter, clearly thinking about the bow-tie. Poor Ronald. Life has never been harder.

"Christ," Ron mutters.

And puts the beer bottle down on the ground. A grand gesture.

"Exactly," I sigh and shake my head in amusement.

"I forgot how bossy you are," Ron says, laughing, his eyebrows raised at me. I make a rude hand gesture at him and giggle at his outraged expression. Even Neville looks strangely shocked. As if they didn't know I knew such a thing. I have best friends who are guys.

"Hermione is probably right," Neville quietly says, scratching the back of his head and not looking at either Ron or me. Feeling the tension that resides, just a little bit. I am one-hundred-percent over Ron. But it doesn't stop the occasional moments in which we can't look at each. Not in quite the same way - as just best friends.

Ron decides to challenge Neville, and by relation, me. "But we'll get sweaty." I roll my eyes at him, not looking at him just yet.

"You'll get sweaty anyway," I tell him. "Plus," I laugh. It breaks the slight tension. "I have orders from the bride."

Simultaneously, all three men groan. And seem to sink into themselves. I know exactly why and it definitely makes me laugh all the louder. Everybody knows that what Ginny says goes, being the ferocious Weasley that she is. And that she is the bride. The bride is always right. In this case, making Ginny Weasley some sort of super bride who will scare all guests and staff into getting her way.

If her hilarious and winning personality doesn't do it first.

"All right then," Harry says to the group with finality. This is punctuated by his draining the last of his beer and him standing and walking back inside the room they occupy. The three of us follow him, the other two also drinking the remaining beer. Harry looks around wonderingly. It's hard not to smirk at their confusion and then to not feel sorry for them. "Neville, where are the suits?"

"Urm..." Neville utters, eyes widening in fear.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asks, his eyes panicking, but the rest of his face left in laughter.

"Calm down mate, they're in here!" Ron calls, laughing heartily in relief. I don't even want to comment or ask why they are keeping their suits in the bathroom. I won't tell them that it doesn't make sense.

"Blimey, I swear I just had a little heart attack." Harry sinks down onto an arm chair, hand against his chest, presumably to calm his racing heart. I can just about sympathise. I am not entirely sure that Ginny would appreciate Harry marrying her in the dirty blue t-shirt he resides in. The one he started wearing so very, very long ago.

"I'm sorry Harry," Neville apologises.

"No worries, Neville," Harry says, half a grin on his face.

Noticing my time to go, I tell them, "See you boys later," and turn to leave.

" _We_ are _men!_ " Ron shouts, laughing. We all laugh as I reach the door.

"Yes, Ronald," I say sardonically. He grins.

I close the door behind me and sigh, feeling a little drained from the whole thing, and very much hope that they are actually ready on time. Strangely, I wouldn't put it past Harry to simply forget that it's his wedding and that Ginny will not be waiting for him. It's the other way around.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long for my to jog the extra two flights of stairs to my room and sort myself briefly before zipping open the huge white bag hanging from the wardrobe door. To see the dress inside.

Calf length, a royal blue, and strapless. Simple. I don't think I would have preferred anything else.

It takes even less time to undress and redress into the dress and get a small bag ready for heading to Ginny's room. The plain make-up, a hairbrush that will b the only one to get through my frizz, and my camera. I don't need to have done my hair or make-up, because Ginnny's sister-in-law has told us that absolutely she and her sister will be the only ones doing it. Fleur was adamant that we could not touch our faces with even a bit of foundation.

As I reached Ginny's room, I swear I thought I saw a flash of something striking.

A certain someone with white blonde hair disappearing around the corner.

But then I entered the room, thinking that there was no chance it could have been him.

 _Must have been Luna's father._

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 **So this is what I have been working on! My new Dramione fanfiction and this one is certainly a little more lighthearted than the others I considered. I have written quite a bit for this in terms of ideas and actual chapters and scenes. I will probably start posting once I have caught up with the last chapter I have written. Which, at the moment, is chapter seven!**

 **Enjoy! And please, Review! Let me know what you thought**


	2. Chapter 2

**The next instalment of my Muggledom, Potter's Wedding! This one is a little longer, so I hope you enjoy!**

 **I'm not sure how regular my updates will be given the exam timetable I am currently looking at, but I am about eight chapters ahead at the moment, so we're okay for now!**

 **0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Upon entering Ginny's room, I am bombarded with squeals of the two French girls who approach me and envelop me in a bone-crushing hug. The hands holding my shoes hand awkwardly outside the hug boundaries. It definitely fits that Fleur is a Weasley now. She has that powerful hug down to an absolute tee. I vaguely hope that people think the same of me. I may not ever become an actual Weasley, but they seem to have brought me into their family, no matter.

"'ermione, it is wonderful to see you!" Fleur says into my hair in her thick French accent. She backs away, along with her sister, Gabrielle. Both of them tall and blonde and stunning in looks. Doth make me feel a little bit like a slug. Ce la vie.

"And you, Fleur," I say, a little breathless from the hug, and closing the door behind myself. Shoes on the floor with my camera. Probably not a safe place to leave it, but I don't think anyone will actively try to step on it. So there's that. "And Gabrielle! You've grown so much!"

"Eet 'appens," she says nonchalantly, but sporting a grin all the same.

"You're late!" calls Ginny in an admonishing tone, from a chair on the other side of the room, her whole head of red hair up in rollers now, and make-up already flawless. Gabrielle must be magic, I think.

" _I_ had to change," I say to her, laughter in my voice. Pointing out the fact that she's wearing a scruffy, pale t-shirt - much like Harry - and worn-out jeans. She grins widely and indicates that I should twirl. I do so and add a curtsey on the end; she giggles at the ridiculous sight of me. Completely fair enough.

Fleur cracks a small smile, then says, "Lovely, now sit down," and hurries me into a seat in front of a mirror, next to another girl with dirty blonde hair and piercing eyes of a colouring that may be deemed silver. Luna Lovegood gives me one of her dreamy smiles, also already dressed in her bridesmaid dress of rich, royal blue. Her hair has already been pulled back into an up-do, curled tendrils falling around her face.

Luna holds her breath and covers her eyes as Fleur sprays hairspray to cover her entire hair-do. Fleur murmurs quietly in French, and holds her nose from the potent, pungent smell of the hairspray. She advises applying perfume to the hair to make it smell more femimine.

"I like it," Luna tells her, sniffing the air. I glance over at Ginny and see she is grinning. Luna is every aspect of entertaining, as well as being extremely kind and intelligent. "Ooh, make-up," she muses when Gabrielle skips over to her, bringing the small bag with her and extracting brushes and palletes from it.

"'ermione, did you do anything with your 'air?" Fleur asks in a near-accusatory voice. She glares at it's bushy volume and tries to run a couple of fingers through it, without any success. I don't mind though, because I can see the smidge of humour she holds in her gaze.

Ginny snorts and I glare at her, smirking. She knows my daily struggle, having lived with me for a short time, straight out of Hogwarts and sometimes staying together during the long summer holidays or over Christmas.

"You told me not to," I reason with Fleur.

"Good that you listened." Then mutters to herself, "'ow do I even..." I murmur an apology, feeling slightly guilty at the task presented to Fleur.

An idea seems to strike Fleur and she turns away from me to rummage in a bag on the large double bed on the right hand side of the extensive room. Ginny turns to me as I begin to run my fingers through my hair, in a vain effort to tame it.

"How were the boys?" she asks, no trace of worry in her voice.

"Not ready in the slightest," I inform her.

Ginny laughs and I chuckle along with her, earning myself a glare from Fleur who had just begun combing through my hair with what must be a steel-reinforced comb - it manages to get halfway through my mass of hair. No matter, Fleur keeps dragging is through and yanks my head down along with it. I don't utter any sound indicating any pain. I know the struggle too well.

"I told Harry to not be so anxious," Luna breaks into the conversation. "He'll upset the flibbing panysies."

Fleur fights a roll of her eyes, while Gabrielle laughs along with Ginny and me. We've known Luna for a long time now and are used to these off-handed comments about things which we are mostly certain do not exist. But it's a wonderful thing, anyway. That Luna believes, and the idea of such things - the flibbing panysies and all other things which she speaks of in such high regard.

"Hermione, it looks like someone has thrown jelly up over your hair," Luna comments as Fleur runs something very cold and disgusting through my hair. Very much like jelly. And it smells quite awful too.

Ginny has her usual reaction to Luna's unintentional humour and clutches the table for support, laughing breaking through her sniffles of breath. She is the one who receives the famous glare from Fleur. Very much as if to say 'you're next'. It's safe to say that Ginny is pretty much quiet after that, stifling her laughter instead. Reeling from the effects.

"'old still, and close your eyes," Gabrielle instructs Luna. Who then freezes comically. Hands caught midway to her eye, knees half-crossed, while Gabrielle applies eyeshadow, and then blush. A mixture of pale blue and purple. To both set the blue in the dress and add slight warmth.

"This is calming gel," Fleur informs me, huffing a little and patting my head with a final squelching load of the gloop. "It will dry naturally when I curl your 'air. It is like magic."

Thank God.

"Fancy," Ginny says. "Was Harry worried?"

"You expect him to be?" I ask, laughing, with one eyebrow raised. Fleur gives a hard tug on my hair and rummages again in the bag to pull some evil-looking curlers from inside it. I subconsciously move away from them as she waits for them to heat up, having plugged them in, contemplating. Possibly about how to remedy the situation - of my hair - on her hands.

"We all know I'm the calm one," Ginny answers with a shrug. Luna giggles and I sniff my laughter - accompanied by another wince caused my Fleur's ministrations. Gabrielle then begins to talk to Fleur in rapid French, gesturing to Luna, who is staring wonderingly at the ceiling - I suppose at the spider which is working it's way across the coving. I shake my head in confusion, having only been able to understand a select few words.

"They were drinking to calm nerves," I tell Ginny - deciding it's definitely not a good idea to tell her that Ron called it 'Dutch courage'. Because then it could sound awful; as if Harry is scared of her, or something. Plausible, due to Ginny's immensely strong physical and mental power, but certainly not reasonable. Especially as she loves Harry.

"Ron's doing?" she queries.

"Of course."

Ginny remains quiet for a few moments, absorbing her surroundings. She sips at the bucks fizz on the table beside her before standing up to stretch her legs and bask in any sunlight coming through the open balcony doors or windows. Brightening sunlight and slowly-clearly clouds cause her to grin widely and through her arms out, feeling the warmth of morning glow.

My head twinges painfully at the pull-through of the curling irons. Fleur doesn't apologise, just tuts and continues.

"Can I have mine half down?" Ginny asks from across the room.

"Of course, it is your wedding," Fleur says absentmindedly, pulling at my hair again and again. At a speed I have never encountered before, a flash of determination in her bright eyes. She doesn't carry the same disparaging tone which she used to - from the considerably higher class boarding school she attended in France: Beauxbatons.

"Finished!" Gabrielle announces with a slight flourish of a brush, and awaiting her next instructions. Meanwhile, Luna admires herself in the tall mirror attached to the wall. She smiles broadly and hugs Gabrielle, apparently in thanks. She does look beautiful. The blue of the dress made her look a little pasty before, but warmth in her cheeks now changes that. It's stunning.

"Right... On.. Time!" Fleur declares, having successfully put my hair into a simple up-do, leaving tendrils to fall around my face. The exact same as Luna. It's quite remarkable the time in which she has done it. I decide that Fleur must be magic, and thank her appropriately.

"Me now?" Ginny asks Fleur, coming back from her standing spot by the balcony doors and running a hand over her rolled-up locks. "Oh gosh, I am so excited," she says as she sits down on the chair she previously vacated.

"Well, it is your wedding," Luna notes in a tone that says Ginny must be very ill if she had forgotten such a fact. She then points at the bulky white cotton bag holding Ginny's wedding dress - to indicate, in case her red-headed friend really had forgotten. And the bouquets sitting on the nightstands beside the bed. "Neville says that when we get married, he wants a say in some things," Luna continues. "Ha, silly though," she muses, causing all of us to laugh in varying degrees.

Fleur cracks a smile. I don't think she approves of Luna, but finds her vaguely amusing.

Three sharp knocks sound from the door to the room.

"It's Molly!" calls the voice from the other side. My heart lifts a little. Molly Weasley, Ginny's mother, is one of the most wonderful people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Warm and motherly and respected.

"Come in!" shouts Ginny, turning her head to the door, much to Fleur's annoyance. "Mum!" Ginny begins to stand up to greet Mrs Weasley as she enters, but Fleur pushes her down as soon as she sees it happening, one of her hands caught in Ginny's unravelling curls. Mrs Weasley closes the door behind her and beams at the whole room, practically glowing with happiness and pride.

And she looks gorgeous too. Red hair in a loose bun - complete with fly-away curls - and wearing a bright green dress that flows to her calves. She makes her way around the room to hug everybody, and taps both Ginny and Fleur on the shoulders. As Fleur looks as though she will adopt that old attitude if anyone ruins what she is doing. Ginny looks slightly resentful.

"Well," Molly sighs. "Don't you all look lovely." She smiles broadly and sits down in the comfortable chair Luna offers her. It amuses me slightly, as Luna and I are the only ones who are actually ready. Fleur and Gabrielle are wearing skirts and casual tops - not ready in the slightest. "You picked a perfect day for it," she says, glancing outside at the brightening sunlight. "Middle of Spring, and sunny! A lucky sign!"

"It's wonderful to see you, Molly," Luna comments, hovering by the wall next to Molly's chair.

"And you dear," she replies, turning back to Luna. She pats Luna's hand in kindness. "How are you doing?"

"Very well thank you," begins Luna. "Though I am a little worried about Neville." Both Ginny and I listen into the conversation, not having heard of any worries in their relationship. Fleur tugs on Ginny's hair as though to pull her to heal - much like a dog. I smirk and have to bite my lip to contain it. Mrs Weasley looks perplexed at Luna. "You see he's developed an unusual and frightful aversion to Salmon, which causes him to -"

"How was Switzerland?" Mrs Weasley interrupts.

Thank the Lord. Personally - and I feel like everyone agrees - I do not want frightful and unusual things happen to Neville when he digests salmon. Its not something I want to consider in any detail whatsoever.

Thankfully Luna is perturbed or offended by Mrs Weasley's would-be-deemed-rude intrusion. Merely, she continues with the chosen conversation, as if she wasn't discussing something entirely different a moment before.

"Ohh! It was amazing!" And Luna hurries into a deep discussion about her journeys in Switzerland with Neville; about the mountains and cities and the absolute beauty of every place they visited. She talks of the food and of the people and how she managed to use a little bit of both French and German and that Neville was suitably impressed. She then journeys into a description of all the magical creatures she saw - and which Neville did not - and I tune out. I whisper surreptitiously to Ginny,

"Do you feel ready?"

"Yeah, I do," she replies, with slightly pause, but that 'in love' expression written all over her face. She winces at the pull Fleur has on her hair, but continues through the pain. Gabrielle tells me to close my eyes and I automatically comply, still listening to Ginny. "Haven't had any jitters yet."

"They will come," Fleur butts in, her French accent thick and flicking her silver hair over her shoulder. Fleur tugs Ginny's hair hard, causing her to wince again, pulling it into a bump at the back of her head. Ginny shakes her head and Fleur lets loose a few strands to fit to Ginny's wants. "Do not worry. It is natural."

Apparently pertaining to the jitters.

"You had jitters?" Ginny asks her beautiful sister-in-law. Carefully, she watches her expression in the mirror. Looking for something. Worry? Or a sign that she might be joking? I would never have suspected Fleur of having the jitters, considering her beauty and general confidence in such a thing. And her powerful love for Bill. But her expression is kinder and not at all outraged.

"Of course," she tells Ginny nonchalantly.

"Everyone gets jitters," Mrs Weasley interjects. Apparently having finished her conversation with Luna, who is now staring out of the window, murmuring a song very quietly.

Clearly, Ginny is as surprised as I am that Mrs Weasley talks about her wedding. And jitters.

Arthur and Molly are the most solid and unchangeable couple I have ever known. They are one of those couples who seem as though they have always been destined to be that married couple. Have always been married. Will just remain being the perfect parents.

"Yes, even me," she states, hands on her hips. Even though she is sitting down. Ginny laughs at her mothers frankness. "The little fluster and panic at the beginning. Before you know it is happening." Molly carries a reminiscing expression.

"But then you just know," Fleur adds in, a tone of dreaminess. "'e is the one. You see 'imm at the other end and you know." She pauses, remembering a time long past. I remember the wedding too. Bill and Fleur's wedding seems eons ago now, but it was stunningly beautiful and seemed filled with magic. "I remember thinking 'ow 'andsome Bill was and 'ow much I loved 'imm."

"Bill was nervous too," Mrs Weasley adds in, chuckling to herself. She places a soft hand on Fleur's shoulder and the two share a short look. That look only mother and daughter can have. That look which encompasses all memories and thought and love.

"Harry's nervous," I say before I can stop myself. Ginny glances at me, a moment's worry in her gaze. "A good nervous," I tell her hurriedly, hoping that she takes this the only way which is good. But she doesn't look entirely settled. Merely states,

"I'm sure he's nervous enough for the both of us."

Everyone laughs at this.

This is followed by a comfortable silence as Gabrielle finished with my make-up and we all watch Fleur add the finishing touches to Ginny's hair. A few small beads pushed into the hump at the back. To match the engagement ring, and the pearl necklace her mother had given her for the occasion. The something old, and the something borrowed.

"You're done!" Fleur then announces, beaming at her sister-in-law. Ginny turns and stands to hug Fleur in thanks.

"It's perfect. Thank you," she says into her hair, causing Fleur to laugh lightly.

"You look beautiful, Gin," I say, smiling. She grins back.

And Mrs Weasley bursts into tears.

Ginny hugs her mother, trying to calm her down, but it takes all of us hushing her and calming her, and even a glass of bucks fizz before Mrs Weasley can finally get out words that string together in a coherent sentence. Gabrielle offers to fix Mrs Weasley's make-up for her and sits her down with another glass of fizz. Molly sniffles loudly and then settles.

"Right, dress time!" Ginny says to the group.

"Yes!" I say, rather loudly.

Fleur is the one to open up the bag of Ginny's wedding dress, the rest of the group falling into awed silence. Then sighs of admiration. A-line, strapless, and with lace and light embroidery patterning the dress.

"Ginny," Luna begins, breaking the silence. "You will look like a snow-drop on fire." And we all laugh.

"We will see you later," Fleur tells Ginny and kisses her on the cheek. "And leave you to finish getting ready." Gabrielle does the same. The two French women leave with an 'au revoir' and Ginny sighs in contentment.

"Hermione, will you..?" she begins.

"Yes, I'll help you. Obviously!" I tell her with a grin and eyebrows raised. As if to question her. For questioning me.

She grins back, thankful.

There's a room for the bride to get changed in, complete with mirrors on each wall. I let Ginny undress before entering to help her. The dress pooled at her feet, then carefully pull it up and lace it at the back. I hold up the dress while Ginny adjusts herself to be completely comfortable. She hugs me tightly and thanks me for everything, though I am not completely sure what 'everything' entails.

We exit and hear Mrs Weasley's joyful sniffles before we see her. She's trying to hold back the tears to prevent any disturbance of Gabrielle's make-up.

"Ginny, you look stupendous," Luna tells her seriously.

And she really does. Red hair half up and half falling down her back. A-line dress accentuating curves and suiting her tall frame. She has also acquired the slightly crazed look of a puppy - with excitement? Mrs Weasley rushes to her daughter and grasps her, kissing her firmly on her forehead. A motherly action of pride and love. Makes me miss my mother, just a little.

"Don't mess your make-up, mum," Ginny jokes. Molly pats her daughter on her head and pulls away, sniffling a little.

"Oh, you're so grown up, Ginevra!" Mrs Weasley sniffles some more and backs away further, making sure not to bump into anything behind her. She smiles broadly then and squeezes Ginny's hand momentarily before saying, "I will see you girls in a little while." And then leaves through the door, closing it behind her.

Ginny sighs heavily and leans against the door, already looking a little exhausted in her excited state.

"Nervous?" I ask. She laughs.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't." Then she pauses, considering herself. "But I am excited. Really."

"Some champagne, I think," Luna says calmly. She walks over to the bucket of ice on the desk and pulls a champagne bottle from the ice. Twist the bottle and hold the cork until it pops and Luna pulls the cork away to pour out three fresh glasses of champagne for us. We clink glasses and drink deeply.

The boys were right. Alcohol calms any nerves.

I hadn't noticed I had been feeling anxious until the champagne slips through me, relaxing a few muscles. Luna still looks in her dreamy state. But Ginny sighs in relief and I notice she has begun to tap her fingers against her thigh.

"This will stop the imps from frazzling your brain," Luna informs us knowledgably. We both nod, not really taking it in.

I wonder briefly whether I will be nervous on my wedding day - if that ever happens. The problem is that I am generally an anxious person, despite my intelligence, so I think I will be the runaway bride in our group of friends. If Ginny is beginning to feel the nerves, then I absolutely have no hope. Best I can do is get the goddamn best maid of Honour - Ginny, obviously - who will calm me down, no matter what.

Yeah, I'll need a Ginny.

For the second time, three knocks resound from the door. Ginny shouts a quick 'come in' to the person on the other side. A short, blonde-haired boy pokes his head around the corner before entering slowly. He brings a hulking camera from around his side, looking absolutely awkward. I really do try to cover the laughter at his discomfort of the situation.

You'd think a professional photographer would not be uncomfortable.

"Hi Colin!" greets Ginny cheerfully.

Colin Creevey. That explains a lot. He was one of the less-privileged people who attended Hogwarts and carried his camera everywhere he went, eager to capture every second of the brilliant school. That was completely fair enough, but no one else carried a camera - therefore making people allow themselves to be occasionally cruel to him. Unwarranted, but it happened.

He looks nervous entering the room, but equally excited to be invited to be there on Harry and Ginny's special day. Colin grins self-consciously at us and then informs us that he has been asked to take some photos in the bridal room before returning downstairs. To wherever Harry is waiting. With Ron. And lots of other people.

The thought makes me a little queasy.

We go through a fairly short process of photos separately, on the balcony and inside the various rooms. Pretending to laugh and to talk and to drink champagne and do all those strange things which we did earlier - to recreate those special moments, which would be forgotten later on, probably. With more alcohol, delectable meals and a bunch of other new memories.

It's tiresome, but over quickly. Thankfully.

In his excitement, Colin gives all of us brief hugs before practically bounding through the door and down the stairs, leaving all of us a little confused as to exactly what has just happened. So, we continue sipping on our champagne to further induce our intake of comedy in the day. To further appreciate the wonderful things that seem to be happening around us.

I see Ginny glancing at the clock several times and still tapping her fingers against her thigh. Having lost that puppy-like expression, and adopting one which suggests she might just run. She doesn't even play piano. I would have to deduce nerves.

Ridiculous thought, though.

She would heavily protest. Because, Ginevra Weasley does not do nerves.

Hardly fifteen minutes pass before three more knocks sound against the door and an entirely new voice calls through the door.

"Hey, it's Jim!" No idea who that is. "Are you all decent?" asks the voice. We shout assent simultaneously and the door opens to reveal the man who Ginny has told me is coordinating the Potter-Weasley wedding. Tall, mid-forties, and with slightly balding dark, brown hair. He smiles sheepishly at Ginny, showing slightly yellowed teeth, and she freezes. "Time to go," he says slowly, clearly hoping she has not frozen mentally as well as physically. To check that she's still the eager bride from earlier in the day.

"Crap," Ginny mutters to herself.

Then downs the rest of the champagne.

Luna laughs gleefully and Ginny explains, "Dutch courage," in a beautiful moment of irony.

She grabs her bouquet and stuffs her feet into her shoes. Luna and I follow suit, me feeling slightly uncertain at this new Ginny. She exits the room in a purposeful stalk, past Jim, leaving the three of us in the room, staring a little wonderingly after her. It's not unlike Ginny to be strong, but it is unlike her to strong for the sake to cover up any nerves. Granted, this is her wedding.

Still, though.

Then again, there has to be sometime when the can't-knock-me-own red-head would fret.

Ginny waits for all of us to leave the room and closes it behind us. Jim takes my camera with him, promising that he'll take photos with it while I enjoy the day. I smile at him and wait with Ginny. Luna and Jim walk on ahead, him listening attentively to whatever she is talking about now.

We get exactly seven feet. A half-corridor.

"Oh God, I can't do this..." Ginny mutters, glancing left and right as we reach the top of the stairs. She pulls the bottom of her dress up slightly moves her gaze down the stairs, and towards the door, through which Harry is waiting. And I see that look that brides are foretold to get. That crazy look. The crazed look that says they do not want to be there and they will run if something provokes them - like a scared rabbit.

I glance sideways at Luna. She squeezes Ginny's hand momentarily and then catches my eye.

"I'll wait at the bottom of the stairs," almost as if she knows. That maybe Ginny needs to just catch her breath and consider. Consider that this is her wedding to Harry Potter, the love of her life. Or so she has told me thousands of times.

"I need to sit down," says Ginny almost to herself. My eyes widen, of their own volition, in surprise. Ginevra Weasley, freaking out? I look at Jim, a few steps ahead of us, and give him a nod to indicate that we need a minute. Thank God, he turns and takes a few steps down the staircase to the flat square piece, facing away from us. Giving us our space.

"Let's sit then," I tell Ginny and plonk myself down on the topmost, inviting her to sit next to me.

She ponders it for a moment before gathering her gown and sitting beside me, taking a few deep breaths. And staring deeply into her bouquet as if it can provide both courage and knowledge. It's halfway comical.

"I know, I must look ridiculous," Ginny admits. I laugh and place an arm around her shoulders. She's shaking only a fraction, but it doesn't worry me too much. It's Ginny Weasley. She's strong and fiery and feisty and can do anything. If she wants to.

"Not at all, you're a bride," I assure her with a laugh.

"That exempts me from ridiculing?"

"Absolutely."

We sit in quiet for a few moments, taking everything in. The only noises coming from the room down the stairs, but both of us refusing to acknowledge it. A soft piece of music is playing - to lighten the mood of the guests and wedding party while they wait, I assume. Because the Bride is never late, unless she simply doesn't turn up.

"Ginny, you love Harry," I begin. She raises her head and keeps her eyes to mine. "And Harry loves you. We did a practice a month ago and you've been planning for nearly two years. You shouldn't need to worry." She smiles then, but her face crumples with worry, and her head returns to her place on folded knees.

"I know," she groans. "But what if I change my mind?"

"Do you think that you will?"

"No," she laughs and pulls her head up again, groaning and looking sheepish. As if to say _yeah, I am an idiot_. I grin and take my arm from around her shoulders. I am about to get up when she pulls me back down, a grim expression on her face. "I need to be honest with you," she says seriously.

"Okay... What's wrong?" The question leaves me, a little uncertain. If Ginny is being serious in her time of worry and nerves, on her _wedding day_ , then God knows what could be going on.

A few seconds pause. Ginny's internal battle extends beyond the time. And then,

"Natalie is here."

The admission. Natalie. Ron's girlfriend. There is the slight clench at her name, but nothing beyond that. No dislike immediately, no wanting to run as far as possible and as fast as possible. There isn't the need to prove myself anymore. Instead, I just say,

"I guessed." And smile. "And that's okay. She's Ron's girlfriend."

Ginny smiles sadly and turns her body so that she is facing me. With a strange expression on her face.

"I am so sorry," she mumbles. "I'm sorry you and Ron didn't work out."

"It's okay," I tell her, placing a hand on her arm in comfort. "We weren't meant to." She looks as though she wants to say something, but I stop her with my next words. "Natalie proves that."

"But we won't be sisters," she utters.

"We don't have to be related to be sisters." Ginny smiles at me and leans into my shoulder, murmuring a quiet apology. I tell her,

"Well, people always say weddings are for meeting people, right?" Ginny laughs and I smile back at her. It seems my sentiment was funny rather than sad, which is always good. She places her hands on my shoulders and stands up, placing a hand briefly on the wall to steady herself. I follow suit and we begin to walk down the stairs, Ginny more confident and no longer breathing heavy.

"Yes, now let's get this over with," she murmurs quietly.

I laugh again, thankful that she can make a joke of her qualms.

"We're good now, Jim," Ginny tells the man and pats him consolingly on the shoulder. He chuckles and steps aside for us to pass before following us down the stairs, hands closed behind his back. I smirk at Ginny and she shrugs her shoulders. As if to say 'he probably gets that all the time'. Ginny grabs hold of the banister after she almost falls and I am giggling beside her. She glares momentarily, but we finally reach the foot of the stairs, where Mr Weasley and Luna are talking politely to each other.

They both stop in conversation. There is a quiet moment of checking that everything is okay before Mr Weasley pulls his daughter into a tight hug and rubs her back gently. A kind and fatherly gesture that makes Luna and I look away, wary that we are interrupting their moment.

"You look splendid, Ginevra," Mr Weasley says quietly to his daughter and then pulls out of the hug. "Best not keep Harry waiting. He already looks like a lost puppy!" He raises his ginger eyebrows humorously and gestures to the open room ahead.

I step around to catch up to Luna and squeeze Ginny's hand before nodding to Jim to start the music. Then follow Luna down the aisle, trying to think about what Ginny must be feeling compared to my slight insecurities about walking to the end of the aisle.

Impossible.

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 **Let me know what you thought!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello and welcome back to Muggledom! Sorry, I almost forgot to post! I'm working on several things at the moment (a fremione, chapter 10 of this, a oneshot and my novel), so that's all been a bit crazy with the inclusion of college and all that. Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter! It's relatively long!**

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 **Potter's Wedding: Chapter Three**

The first thing I notice is the decoration of the room. A beautiful whiteness about it, of clarity of sorts. Silken white drapes over the enormous windows, golden light streaming inside. At the end of each row, a small bouquet of white meadow flowers and bluebells attached to the end chair. Red and yellow fairy lights around the two pillars at the very end of the room. Gryffindor.

Family and friends are set out in two sides, all sitting on the old-fashioned wooden and heavily-cushioned chairs that would usually accompany an expensive dinner, adorned with white or silver bows on their backs. Groom on the right, Bride on the left. Except, the people that Harry and Ginny know are pretty much the same people - having gone to school together and been together since sixth form.

One only difference is that the left side has a few more red-heads.

Luna walks a few paces ahead of me up the aisle, her blue skirt swinging with each step as the music begins to surround us - heading to a crescendo when Ginny walks in. I remember the pair of them planning it for the moment to be like in the movies: Perfect. It's causing my brain to not process correctly. A tightness in my throat and a startling jumbling in my stomach.

Anxiety, I'm guessing. But that would be silly.

I try to focus on where I am walking instead of other and more distracting things. Like the shock of blonde hair that I see in the second to back row as I walk. It must be Xeno. Yet, why would he be at the back and not at the front? Luna is bridesmaid, after all.

It becomes easier to not focus as I walk further up the aisle, Luna peels off and I see Harry and Ron standing together at the end of it. Ron placing a hand on Harry's right shoulder, and Harry looking like he either wants to smile or vomit. Or do one after the other. It almost makes me laugh. However, I then catch Ron's eyes and look away very quickly.

On the very front row, I spot Xeno Lovegood. Which seems to make no sense to me.

When I finally reach the very top of the room, I turn around immediately, searching for that shock of blonde hair I spotted on my way in. It couldn't be. No way. Malfoy. No, he wouldn't be here. I spot the white-blonde hair as the music picks up and Ginny enters the room. And I am immediately distracted. Looking out for my friend, instead of looking for an enemy.

Everyone stands, at the vicar's request.

She only stumbles once, causing a tittering of laughter to ring through the room. I smile at her and finally she reaches the front. Arthur kisses her cheek, shakes Harry's hand and goes to join his wife on the left hand side. Molly is already holding a tissue to her face, but so far no tears. I think she might just be doing it in preparation. To dab if the tears do start to come.

I can't see Ginny's face, but Harry is grinning as wide as possible, completely overcome. Ron catches my eye again and I look away.

"And who will give the happy couple away?" asks the vicar.

"I will," Ron and I declare. He looks at me but I don't look back. His silk pocket-square only matches my dress because of us being in the wedding party together. It has nothing to do with us. Nothing to do with any part of us. So I stare resolutely at the back of the room.

"Thank you," intones the vicar. "Please, everyone be seated."

They do. Luna, Ron and I all sit as well. Ron on the right, Luna and I on the left. And the vicar progresses with a beautiful ceremony, talking about what love means to people and how it can change course, and that you must learn through loving as well as love through learning. The whole thing makes me consider a little bit about love as well. Not the love that the vicar talks of - 100% pure - but the love that grows and isn't some true love story that would make seven year olds feel sick.

I know I am certainly not in the right 'me' for marriage. But, one day, it would be nice. I guess.

People are constantly shuffling around in their seats, waiting for the ceremony to end. Yet, I still cannot catch a glimpse of who I suspect to be Draco Malfoy. I mean, it could be some friend or distant relation I have never met or heard of... But it's so distinctly _him_. Malfoy and I were never friendly, but I would know that head easily. A little prouder than the rest of us. Not completely maintained, but certainly an air of control.

And that ego the size of a rocket-ship. Do I have to worry about him sabotaging Harry and Ginny's special day?

"Do you, Harry James Potter, take Ginevra Molly Weasley to be your lawfully wedded wife. To have and to hold, from this day forward. For better or for worse; richer or for poorer; in sickness and in health; to love and to cherish from this day forward, until death do you part," asks the Vicar, turning to Harry.

"I do," he answers, grinning weakly at Ginny. She smirks at his cracking voice.

"And do you, Ginevra Molly Weasley, take Harry James Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward. For better or for worse..." As the vicar continues, I spot Ron rummaging in his pockets for the rings. His part now. Ginny glances at him nervously and Harry squeezes her hand to reassure her.

"I do," Ginny says as soon as the vicar finishes.

"Now for the rings." Ron stands and lumbers forwards, handing over the small, velvet, cuboid box to the vicar. "Thank you. I believe Harry and Ginny have their own vows for the exchanging of the rings?" Harry and Ginny nod and Ron sits down again, suddenly looking very awkward. Can't be very fun to have to listen to his best mate and his sister talk about their profound love for each other in front of the best people.

"Harry?" Ginny's voice breaks the silence of the room. He glances up at her in confusion, seemingly completely lost.

"Oh!" He laughs. "Sorry, me first. Right. Hang on." He thinks for a nanosecond. "Okay, I'm good. Phew!" Another titter of laughter breaks through the room at his nervousness and I find myself laughing along with them. "Ginny," he begins, causing her to giggle. I notice the signs. A giggle-fit approaches. "Hey, if you laugh, I'll laugh and then we'll never get to the end of this bit." She laughs again and Harry smirks at her.

"Okay, I'll be good," she says quietly, stifling a giggle.

"Good," Harry murmurs. I smile. "Ginevra Weasley. From the word 'go' you have surprised me. Amazed me. The first year we met when you sent me that goddamn singing card. The one with the tune I sing to you every year, just because it's funny now." Laughter comes from those who attended Hogwarts at that time. "And then when I knew you more, and I liked you as Ron's sister. And then I liked you as more. This stunningly bright, fiery, _ballsy_ red-head." Ginny sniffles. "You're funny and brave and you are beautiful. Ginny, I promise that I will do all of those husband-y things." He pauses again to grin at her. "I promise to take out the rubbish when you tell me, and to look after you when you're sick, and to do whatever you tell me to do."

The vicar opens the box holding the rings and Harry pulls out Ginny's, taking her hand and placing the ring on her finger. In line with the engagement ring she has been wearing for the last year or so.

"I promise to not get mad at the TV when the canons play." Ginny laughs lightly and Harry squeezes her hand. "I promise to remind you how beautiful you are, especially when you need it. I promise to try not to embarrass you in front of your brothers or family." He sighs heavily and grins again. "I promise to stay awake during chick flicks." There is a small rumble of laughter through the room. "I promise to challenge you as much as you challenge me, and to love you forever. I am yours."

"Okay, my turn," Ginny mumbles for a moment before composing herself. Trying to stop the grin from spreading over her face. And I suddenly know exactly what she's going to do. "Your eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad..." she begins, in the same sing-song voice that was emitted from that damnable card all those years ago. Harry grins, then pretends to admonish her with a contemptuous look. "Just joking," she assures."

"Good," Harry utters.

"We both know I am not the overly sentimental one, but here goes." I smile and glance at the back of the room, trying again to catch a glimpse of Draco Malfoy. Hoping he doesn't ruin anything. "I have loved you for a long time, and will love you for a long time yet. The way your hair will _never_ lie flat." As it is at that exact moment, Harry's hand absentmindedly travelling to it in mirth. "That you are perceptive rather than academically intelligent. And your hilarious sarcastic and sassy remarks." She grins broadly.

Ginny then takes the other ring from the velvet box and slides it onto Harry's finger.

"I promise to cook nice food, or decide to get take out. I promise not to argue with you about sports decisions. I promise to tell you when you look ridiculous - I like your suit by the way," she comments on the end, and then pauses in the chuckling. "I promise not to drive so fast, and to tell you when you've done something wrong, and not make you guess or find out by my brothers." She smiles at him and squeezes his hand. "I promise to let you have guy-time, and I promise to love you and care for you forever. And not play COD when you're out."

"I don't mind... That much," Harry says with a laugh. They both turn to the vicar, smiling sheepishly in question. He smiles benignly back at them, giving me a sudden reminder of our old Head Professor, Dumbledore. With sharp eyes and half-moon spectacles and that knowing expression.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!" The vicar raises his hands in exultation and Harry grins, before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to Ginny's lips. Then he turns around, Ginny's hand tightly in his, and shouts,

"Wahoo!" to great laughter and cheering of their audience.

Music begins to blare from the speakers, fast-paced and joyous, and Harry and Ginny walk down the aisle together, grinning at each other broadly and with complete happiness. It makes me consider whether I want that kind of love. The utter and complete and whole kind of love, or whether I need something with far less pressure. To... Carry me off, I suppose. That next step in the steps of life, I suppose. Definitely babbling now.

Once Harry and Ginny have left, people begin to shuffle and fie out of the hall, picking up handfuls of confetti for the photo outside which Colin is coordinating a few metres outside the church. I grab a bunch of it, yellow, pink and orange hearts and follow everyone else out of the hall. Ron catches my eye, grinning slightly, before turning away again and I am left to stand by Luna as we wait for instruction.

"Okay, everybody ready?" shouts the photographer to the crowd. We roar back a cheer in reply and Colin laughs lightly. "Three! Two! One!" Everybody waits in anticipation. Harry readies himself for the downpour and Ginny squeezes his hand tightly in glee. "Go!"

On the mark, we throw the handfuls of confetti into the air around Harry and Ginny, causing the explosion of colour of paper. Laughter bursts into being around me. The confetti catch in hair and warm skin and on the creases in Harry's suit. I catch sight of a tall blonde someone standing several feet away from me, but still can't see his face. Dammit. Suspicion creeps into my mind, but I am, once again, forced to push it aside as Colin requests the wedding party for photos.

Photos begin in groups of people, while men and women in black and white getup bring out trays of Bucks fizz. First, the photos of just Harry and Ginny, then the family, then wedding party. During this time, many people approach me with words of kindness and support about the day. Thankfully, I don't have to talk to Ron or his girlfriend – who I haven't yet spotted.

I make my way around the Weasley clan before we're called for photos. Discussing new products with Fred and George, the general election with Percy, and talk more generally to Bill.

"Hermione!" he exclaims, pulling me in for a quick hug before stepping back to take a look at me in that older-brotherly way. He leans casually against the wall of the building, clutching his beer and sporting a wolfish grin. I glance around for Fleur, but then spot her a few metres away, talking avidly with another woman, her silvery blonde hair turned golden in the early-afternoon sunlight.

"Hi Bill," I say, turning back to him and smiling widely. "How's it going?"

"Fantastic thanks," he answers immediately, which certainly makes me happy, having always liked the older Weasley. For his resounding coolness, amongst other things. Including a different sort of maturity to the rest of them - being the oldest, as he is. "Yourself?" Also, like his somewhat surprising consideration for others. Something which is usually uncommon in families of great size.

"Yeah, really good thanks. Perfect day for it," I comment. Clear skies and persisting sunshine beaming down on us. In my peripheral vision, I glimpse Ginny and Harry having photos taken, and Ginny clutching onto Harry, giggling at whatever mishap just occurred. I smile.

"Haven't had a chance to catch up with you for a while," Bill states, taking a sip of the beer. I know that it's due to the only amount of time having spent together recently was during the crazed-times of wedding planning of the Potter-Weasley wedding. In which females were a little nuts, and the men were silent. Of course, not including Harry. Ginny insisted that he make decisions as well, and speak up. Even on her more fiery days.

"How's the job?" Bill's words break up my reverie and pull me back to the present. My job. Oh lord.

"Not so bad," I tell him. "Exam season at the moment so the kids don't need my help so much at the moment, which is always a little bit of a relief. Although, it does mean that the younger ones are a little restless with summer around the corner." I pause and smile. "The new text I got sent yesterday is really interesting too - at least in my opinion - which is a huge bonus. I should finish that fairly quickly. Looking likely to be approved for publishing." I finish in a bit of a hurry, understanding that I probably said too much about something which is next to of no interest to anyone else. I know, I sound like a complete workaholic and nerd.

Strangely, Bill seems impressed and engaged rather than bored - another thing I have always liked about him. Not that I should compare the brothers, but Ron always used to tell me to shut up or be quiet when I spoke about any new text I'd been sent for approval and reading, for the publishing agency. Or when I asked his opinion on anything relating to it. Either that, or his eyes completely glazed over. Every time. And I had to wave him back to life.

Instead, Bill says,

"Cool, what's it about?"

"Theory of development in human nature during the twenty and twenty-first century." He nods in comprehension, even though I know the title is definitely nowhere near enough to grab the attention of anyone not invested in the topic.

"Sounds interesting enough." He takes another sip of beer and looks at me questioningly. "Thought any more about publishing, yourself?" I frown.

"Bits and pieces," I admit. "But I don't know. I don't think I'd be able to do it." I pause to think about my words, as Bill still appears to be listening to me. "A book would be... So much work. And I would constantly analyse what's good and bad, from having read over so many other successful and unsuccessful texts." It would be like feeling everything I say is wrong, and never being able to define what sounds right. And continually edit bits, several times, if not more.

"Isn't that good though?" Bill asks. "You'd know exactly what to do?" He grins at me, but my brows furrow further.

"I guess. But it would be exhausting, with teaching and reading still." I'd have horrific amounts of marking to do over the next few weeks, being and English teacher. And have the text to finish for the publishing agency. Plus, the looking over the new syllabus for next year. Lordy. I have to find a way to fit in the three extra books Dolores Umbridge wants into the curriculum - the glorified Head of Education.

"What about over summer? You're not working then," he reasons. "It's the summer holidays. That's six weeks, right? Enough time to make a start?" I nod, biting my lip in thought. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe I could start. Hell, what would I even write about?

"I suppose, I could," I say quietly. Almost to myself. Then louder, "Maybe. I'll see." Bill smiles and takes another sip of beer.

"Just gotta believe you can do it, and you will," he tells me with a wink, causing me to laugh. The heavy moment disappears briefly in those brief seconds. Basking in the sunlight, believing and hoping.

"How's your job?" I ask, breaking the comfortable, short-lived silence between us. "I heard you were commuting to Egypt every so often?" Supposed to be a light-hearted start to conversation, but it clearly is not such a comforting topic to Bill. He frowns deeply, and swiftly glances over at Fleur, clearly thinking about something I perhaps shouldn't have begun to probe.

"Yeah..." he mumbles, running a hand through his long, red hair. A sign of distress, perhaps. And suddenly I feel a little guilty for asking, but know I would have done eventually. We've always been friendly to each other. And friends ask those kind of things. "I get weeks in Egypt here and there, every so often. Only ever for a week or less at a time." He smiles briefly, but I notice it's forced. "It's not usually in great advance either." Bill's eyes flick over to Fleur again for half a second.

"How's she doing with it? Fleur, I mean."

Bill grimaces slightly and swigs his beer. "Not _so_ bad, I think. It's hard for me to be away from her and the kids - for me and for them," he confesses and runs a hand through his hair again, laughing quietly to himself. "Fleur is working part time now. To... Make up for the time they don't see me. To make up for me." Bill rubs a hand over his face and laughs that same quiet chuckle to himself. Not quite at bitter. I frown and pat his arm consolingly. Trying not to be patronising. "It's okay, though. I see them... Enough." He smiles weakly.

"Can you get them to change your agreement? The contract?"

"Not really," Bill says, some of the heaviness lifting. "We are going to need the extra money in the next couple of years as the kids go to Hogwarts. Especially with Fleur working part time." He pauses. "We could probably change it around, but it would take time. And hassle." I nod in agreement. Completely understanding. It can take months or years to rearrange contacts in large companies - especially places such as Gringotts Bank. Or they might have to find Bill a new job.

"Well, it's bound to get better," I say, light-heartedly. Bill nods slowly and sips his beer. "How's Victoire getting along?"

"My beautiful daughter," he laughs. "She's doing amazingly for five!" He laughs again and talks reminiscently about his daughter, chatting about the things she has said to make them laugh and how quite different Fleur is getting along with Dominique. We're nearing the end of a fabulous story about Victoire when Fleur drifts over gracefully and graciously asks if she may have Bill back for a while. They go to talk to Fleur's new friend and I walk away to talk to Arthur about the documentary on the rubber duck race in China and finally approach Charlie, to ask him about his travels to Papua New Guinea.

Eventually we're called in for more photos out on the extensive lawn. Photos of the bride and her maids, the photos of the men, then family and friends. And then the photo of everyone, sin the confetti from earlier on in the day. I stand beside Neville, and briefly chat to him about his latest work in the world of horticulture, while Colin sets up the photo. It sounds fairly interesting, but I end up thanking a higher power for the introduction when Neville begins to theorise the use of Venus fly trap plant as a medicine for some up-and-coming virus. I quickly break away from the gaggle, after the photos are done, to fetch a tall glass of champagne and walk over to Remus and Tonks.

They tell me that Teddy saw the first part of the wedding and will be back – lift provided by his loving grandmother – in the morning to see Harry and Ginny off. We briefly talk about the fiscal crisis and then about the latest additions to their new house. Apparently, Remus is only fond of the bright colours because of Tonks.

I completely disregard Fred and George discussing pyrotechnics with Seamus Finnigan. No point getting involved in that conversation for many reasons.

Shortly after, Jim informs us that we will be entering the dining hall for food and speeches, and the masses trudge inside in small groups. I end up shuffling past the huge glass doors with the spritely Lavender Brown and her beau, Robbie something-or-other – no, that's not his real surname.

"Hermione!" she squeals. I smile back politely and greet her.

"Lavender."

"How are you!" Honest, I begin to answer, but am cut off. "Robert and I just got back from San Tropez! We're engaged!" She shoves her be-ringed hand in front of my face. Very much too close for my liking, but can't complain. Especially not when she is beaming so kindly at me and with all the happiness in her heart. I almost forget the years I hated her exhausting enthusiasm and kissing Ronald right in front of my eyes.

"That's wonderful news, Lavender," I tell her, mustering an extremely pleased expression. "Congratulations to the pair of you!"

"Oh thank you! Isn't it pretty!" I nod to pacify her and then walk a little faster.

Thank God, open space. Away. Dammit, not quite. Lavender follows me rather eloquently, her man trailing in her wake, in her clutches. I wonder what kind of man would like to be in a relationship where he is constantly babbled at… Then again, he did propose. He must love her.

"It's beautiful," I tell Lavender and search around the heavily decorated room for the top table. At the far end of the room, having to pass every other table. Lavender beams at me serenely, causing me to inwardly groan. She's going to ask about love. Dammit.

"Any man in your life?"

"Pardon?" I ask, withdrawing a little at the sudden and rather blunt question.

"A man, silly! Are you over Ronald, yet?"

At this question, I am flabbergasted, and hardly manage a reply. But there is the shake of head and laugh of derision at her comment.

"God, yes," I say vehemently. "Absolutely." She looks at me questioningly. "But no, no man in my life. As of yet." I mutter the last words, realising exactly how I must sound to Lavender. No man. Holding out for dear Ronniekins. Eugh. No thank you. I don't need a man. I am very happy living by myself, eating by myself, and depending on myself. I am perfectly happy to be where I am, without a man. Until I shrivel up, leaving my remains as Crookshanks' catfood. That sounds lovely.

Sarcasm? Only slightly.

"Well we must catch up soon!" Lavender instructs me, placing a hand on my arm. I am not entirely sure what the gesture means, but smile at her anyway. Thinking that I will be happy the day I no longer have to attend reunions where I see my old Gryffindor gals. And may rather stick pins in my eyes than catch up with them on a more regular basis. I nod at her anyway, and she and Robert peel away to walk over to their table – after finding exactly where they are sitting.

I make a beeline for the top table, determined not to walk into any more people. Determined to not talk to anyone until I can sit down and get some wine in me. I had not realised a wedding would be such hard work when it's not even your own.

Heck, I have become bitter.

Everyone settles in their seats. I happen to be sitting next to a certain Ronald Weasley. He grins sheepishly at me, and I try my very best to not let him know how much I resent that fact. I think he notices my lack of wanting to talk to him. And thinks that we should be past it now. Ha.

Harry and Ginny enter the room to tumultuous applause and take their seats at the top table, with us. Harry beside Ron, and Ginny beside Harry. Arthur and Molly sit beside Ginny. So I guess that makes Ron and I Harry's stand-in family. In a sad, but wonderful, kind of way. He smiles at the pair of us before beginning to chat to Ron about something. I don't acknowledge the conversation, instead jump at the opportunity to fill my wineglass when the waiter comes along.

Red or white. White. Drier. Easier to drink and still keep a few, very small, wits about me. Even if that may be impossible, or completely irrelevant.

"Hermione," Ron's voice enters the newly slightly-dimmed stratosphere of my thoughts. I turn to him, a slight chill running through me. "Hermione?"

"What?" I ask slowly. Calmness in my tone. I catch sight of someone waving at Ron. Must be Natalie. God, she's beautiful. I forget. Ron raises a hand in reply before turning back to me.

"We're cool aren't we?"

"Cool as a cucumber, Ronald. What's up?" His brow furrows very slightly, before he decides that I must be okay with it. And that I must be serious about whatever is going on here. Because I have very few ideas about what he's going to say next.

"So, we're friends then?"

"Of course," I answer immediately, cracking a very small and half-true smile. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I mean, Ginny said that she told you about Nat being here." Funny, he calls her an insect. "I wanted to know that we're definitely cool. Good, I mean. Friends."

"Even if just for today," I tell him, taking another sip from my drink and watching the plates of food approach through the doors at the right hand side of the hall. Food! It must be us first. And when Ron gets food, he shuts up. God, I hope he shuts up.

"Yeah," he murmurs. Suddenly awkward, he says something hardly intelligible to his father. But I'm no longer paying attention, having just caught sight of Draco Malfoy on the other end of the dining hall. Leaning back casually, dressed in a dark suit with a green tie. You'd think it would look wrong for his pale complexion, but it works, strangely. He's sipping on a glass of red wine, looking utterly at peace. On a table with some random people. Some I don't recognise. A table of nice people, but the odds and sods of nice people.

I turn to Harry immediately, not daring to glance any longer at the blonde -haired man, having just caught him smiling at an unheard joke. "Harry, did you - "

"Your starter, Madam," a waiter interrupts, planting the plate in front of me, and another in front of Ron. I glance at Ron after looking at the food. Grilled asparagus, wrapped in bacon, over a poached egg. Ron simply grins at me, knowing that I know he will eat it any way. Even if he has no idea what exactly it is or that it's extremely fancy.

"Thank you," I tell the waiter. Ron is already digging in.

The meal is somewhat pleasant. I manage to actually talk to the people on the table and we have a good laugh around the wonderful food which is presented to us. As always has been, Ron and Harry talk around their food, while Ginny and I smirk at each other with knowing looks.

"I wish he had promised not to eat like a hog," Ginny laughs, talking to me across the two boys. The table responds in laughter and Harry chokes on his food – a main course of venison for him and Ron, sea bass for me and Mrs Weasley, and honeyed carrots for Ginny and Mr Weasley.

Ron speaks to me about his new work, and about his holiday to Mauritius with Natalie. I listen and ask questions, as any friend would, and he responds accordingly. Asking about the text I'm reading and how to handle kids, exactly. My job being a teacher, I have to deal with ragamuffins near-daily. We tease Harry about married life and Ginny joins in as well, once her father has finished with discussing the latest advancements in yoghurt pot construction.

Dessert comes with much reverence from the guests, very much so including the top table. I am a dessert person, let that be known. So when this smorgasbord of sweets and treats arrives on a platter, I am in heaven. Ron and I catch eyes, smirking. Then glance at Harry and Ginny, who look equally amazed. Mr and Mrs Weasley are talking about the main meal, still.

"Profiteroles," I murmur.

"Brownie," utters Ginny.

"Crème _brûlée_ ," whispers Harry.

"Cheesecake!" Ron exclaims, loudest of all of us.

"And macaroons," croons Mr Weasley, picking a bright pink one of the corner of the platter.

"This is the greatest dessert idea ever, Harry," Ron tells his best friend determinedly.

Then our plates arrive, with two scoops of ice cream and a jug of cream for the table, plus whipped cream. And Ron looks like he might laugh or cry with the happiness of it. He claps Harry on the shoulder, hard, and begins to haul his load onto his plate, causing all of us to laugh and to do the same. It's like we only went through the other courses to get to this one. And that is completely fine by me.

After we have all had our fill – which certainly lasts a longer time than the other course (I mean, did they need to bring out another platter?) – it is time for the speeches. I'm three glasses of wine in at this point, and loving the breezy and easy-going feeling I have. Mr Weasley is up first. Ron turns to me, looking much like a rabbit in the headlights.

"Ron?" I ask, uncertain.

"I can't do it," he says very simply. I pat him consolingly on the arm and fill up his glass with wine. Gesture for him to drink and he downs the entire thing, neither of us paying huge amount of attention to Mr Weasley, but catching the odd word here and there.

"- And she told me, 'Dad, Fred and George said I would be able to fly!'" He laughs. "A fun trip to A&E, but a terrible evening for the twins." Mr Weasley glances at his red-faced wife before coughing awkwardly and continuing. "That was one of the times I knew –"

"You can do it, Ronald. And you will," I tell Ron, looking back at him. His hands twitch briefly before pulling out the speech from inside his pocket, nervous. "He's your best friend. You're his best man. I'm sure your speech is great."

"Yeah," he mumbles in reply.

"To the Bride and Groom!" Mr Weasley shouts, holding up his champagne glass.

"The Bride and Groom," the room echoes, clinking glasses back. Ron glances at me and I nudge him in the arm. "Ron, go!"

Ron gulps nervously, quickly looks to his wine glass before deciding that it's too late now. He stands up, flattens his speech and his eyes dart around the room, looking for someone to focus on. Natalie. Then even the calls of his brothers can't stop him, or the slightly goofy grin that crosses his features. I smile somewhat happily, and lean back to listen. Having not heard him practice this, but having had it emailed to me several times for spelling mistakes.

Most of the speech is made up of talking about late nights out and early mornings when Harry did embarrassing things. Which suitably leave the room guffawing loudly. Like the time Harry decided he was a wizard and wore a traffic cone all the way home, proclaiming he would defeat Merlin. Or the time when Harry danced his way into a ladies' shower room in the alps ski resort, and the women screamed so loud that many proclaimed it would cause an avalanche. Of course, this was a complete accident on Harry's part – he had been drinking tequila. And the time when Harry wanted a zebra more than anything, and bargained his car for it. Which Ginny rectified in the morning.

The very best part of the speech was the end, though.

"Harry's been my best mate for a long time: over a decade," Ron tells the room, to very little surprise. "You've been part of the family for just as long. In a non-official way. But now you've married my sister, I'm kind of torn. But either way…" he tails off slightly to a slight laughter. "I have a lot of brothers," Ron begins, and a roar of cheering erupts from the table where the rest of the Weasley clan sit. He turns to Harry. "But, mate, I am glad to have one more and finally, _officially_ , call you my brother as well."

And Harry's speech was pretty good too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! I think I definitely made you all wait long enough, and chapter four can now be released into the wild! It's a super long one, so fingers crossed it was worth the wait! I'm working on chapter ten at the moment, which is nearly done. So, hopefully, this story can be fully rolling over the next couple of weeks!**

 **Alas, for now, hopefully you enjoy this!**

 **0-0-0-0**

As maid of honour, I am sitting at the top table, watching Ginny and Harry dance together for the first time; as Mr and Mrs Potter. Ginny in her flowing white gown, and Harry in his tux. They're not really dancing, but people rarely do on their first dance. It's more of a gentle and loving sway to the artist I don't recognise, sung by the woman they hired for the early hours of the evening before the DJ steps in.

I know Ron is sitting to the left of me, but try not to acknowledge him, or the beautiful girlfriend who is perched beside him. Exhaustingly and gloriously polite, and stunningly pretty. Hair that shines in chocolate waves and deep blue eyes. In my periphery I see her beaming at him and I take another sip of the white wine placed in front of me - courtesy of the happy couple. When I glance again at Ron and his _beau_ , they are standing to leave and join Harry and Ginny on the dance floor. As is his duty as best man. Without a second glance to me.

 _Doesn't bother me_.

With that, I decide I am in need of something a little stronger to drink for the evening. This wine will go straight to my head and leave it somewhat cool. Nope, that will not do. It's got to be something else. So, I hitch my skirt up a little higher to attempt to wade through the sea of seats, without falling over any disregarded shoes or chair legs. The bar stretches across the other side of the room, complete with some non-dancing couples, and a few of Harry's single friends, all ordering that staple substance: Beer.

Several cheery people wave to me on my way to the bar, and several more offer condolences about Albus Dumbledore's passing. I thank them, and only have one or two conversations - filled with inane chatter to bring them to a quicker close. People continue to move around me, making their way onto and off from the dancefloor, then removing shoes or taking long drinks to soak in the night. I am extremely eager, at this point, to be drinking before the next soppy love song.

Thankfully, the bar tender is either sympathetic and understanding, and grimaces appropriately before pouring me my order of vodka and lemonade. That should numb me out a bit.

"Hermione Granger."

My first reaction is a clenching of the stomach. Not in surprise, but anxiety I suppose. His voice isn't the drawling, petulant one it once was. It's turned mature, almost business-like. With a hint of friendliness that makes me want to kick him down and threaten him to within an inch of his life. Suspicion races through me, and quite unceremoniously. I don't know, but I have had the bad feeling of him all day. He's clutching a beer - stereotypical - and wearing a very non-stereotypical suit. Probably designer, with the green silk trim on the lapels.

Casual, is another way to describe him. His demeanour, and thankfully his hair. It's no longer disgustingly lain flat with gel, as it was during out school days. He wears a near-expressionless façade, watching the couples.

"Draco Malfoy," I say slowly, not hardly daring to approach any further than the three feet which separate us. Wondering what on earth he is doing here. The classroom tormentor. The bad boy who is also a suck-up. The horrible, whiny, daddy's-boy. The boy who was completely awful to me and to my friends throughout our school lives. Taunting and teasing. Maybe I should have my wits about me, with this devious imp being here.

In accordance with my less-than-friendly thoughts, I feel my nostrils flare against my will. Dammit.

"Calm down, Granger. I was invited," Malfoy says, turning to me and I can finally meet his face. After the whole day of dancing around to catch a glimpse and realise any fears. I'm struck by how grown up he appears to have become in the seven years since we have seen each others. His dull grey eyes have become sharp and intuitive and his jaw is more defined. No desperate stubble attempts.

"By who?"

Yeah, I didn't mean to sound quite so rude. Not like I'm going to tell him that, though. It's really best to be hostile now and regret it later on. Alas, Malfoy laughs derisively and indicates the couple dancing in the centre of the throng - red-head in white dress, and bespectacled man in the tux. "Harry?" I ask.

"The man himself."

"Why?" I frown and again have to curse myself for the rudeness. Oh well. Blame it on the wine. It usually makes me say things which should - but aren't - untrue. So there we have it. Truth serum with the most horrible man I have ever known. This should be interesting.

"Some rubbish about the past and having made friends a little during sixth form, and him considering himself adult enough to call me a friend." He laughs again and swigs his beer. "Really, I have no idea. But first, I have a question about you." Oh great. I roll my eyes and take a sip of the drink. A little strong, but it will do. Maybe it will wash about my wine-truth-serum brain. I nod at him, as an indication that he might as well ask. "What happened to you and the Weasel?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I retort.

Malfoy seems to consider me for a moment, before answering, with a twinge of a eyebrow raise. "Really," he sighs heavily. "Well, I thought the pair of you were going to fall completely in love and go to live in his shack with his family of twenty-something." He fully raises the eyebrow now, daring me to comment. The audacity of his actions astounds me. But I'm not surprised.

"There are nine of them."

"Until Potter and the she-Weasel start procreating." Malfoy almost laughs as I scowl in disgust. How can he be so crass, and at their wedding nonetheless. Oh yeah, this is Draco Malfoy. How could I forget. Ha. Sarcasm. "You didn't even answer my question, Granger. How come Weasel is dancing with someone else, when I predicted such a _long_ future for the pair of you." He drags the word 'long' out, making it seem like we were destined for a boring life together.

"We broke up. It was amicable."

Repetition is not something I frequent, being an English teacher and an avid reader. Unless it's this particular phrase. It's the one phrase I have been using to tell everyone - old friends, family and anyone who has been asking, the last year and a half of my life - what happened between us. At least, the easy version of events. The simple statement. We broke up. It was amicable. That way, no one will ask any prying questions into the details of any messy arguments we had during the break-up stages. Usually, people follow to say that it's a shame, ask if I am happy, and then I answer positively, talk about my work, new apartment. And we can move on. No one need know any more.

"And yet, unfair," Malfoy muses. "You do not have a dance partner, I notice." He raises an eyebrow and moves closer. The barman has moved away, given us the privacy that causing the strange intimacy of the moment. Which I absolutely hate. "You look like you might enjoy a little dancing." Malfoy smirks and I scowl instantly.

"I would rather be alone than with him." Then curse my words.

"That doesn't sound amicable," Malfoy notes. His smirk half-disappears, as though he is uncertain. Impossible. Growing up a prat, I know, causes his undisputable confidence in every action he makes.

"Shut up, Malfoy." I down my drink. By what-could-be-called-magic, the barman appears and pours another of my order. Vodka and lemonade. Thank God. Only alcohol can save me from this situation I appear to have got myself into.

"Stiff drink, priss," he comments as the barman walks away again, to serve a tall and batty woman at the other end of the room. For a moment, I pause to consider how silly it is that there is only one bartender. Then again, there is wine on every table and servings of champagne, in addition. "Didn't think you were that kind of girl." Malfoy's words made me scowl again and I take a large gulp, liking the slight burn.

"To be fair, you don't know me," I say, turning back to him, having gained a small amount of courage, trying not to look at the dancers. If I can briefly hold this not-completely-awful conversation with Malfoy, I don't have to think about Ron and Natalie and her prettiness.

"Ouch." He touches his chest lightly with spare hand, as if deeply hurt. Of course, sarcastically. Not having that. Nope.

"Don't pretend you care."

This is definitely not how I envisioned my evening playing out. Malfoy smirks, whispering in my ear in a deep, insinuating voice,

"To be fair, you don't really know me, either. But we're not strangers, Granger."

"Malfoy, I am not spending this beautiful evening of my best friend's wedding, trapped indoors with only alcohol and you for company. You hated me as a child, and I hated you. Let's just leave it at that." I take another gulp from my drink, looking away from him. Hoping to have hurt his feelings, but also knowing I wouldn't have done. It would be impossible to do such a thing. He could revert at any second, and be nasty, say something awful, and I would go back to the top table, waiting for some poor sod to approach with words of kindness, or something about the happy couple.

"Well, then, let's go outside." He doesn't falter and I can't help but blanch at his words. Random and ridiculous thing to say. "You said it yourself. I don't know you. Neither of us want to be trapped inside. I have nothing better to do." He shrugs. "No one will ask me to dance. Let's get caught up." Malfoy pauses, waiting for my reaction. To throw a drink in his face, or accept. But I'm frozen. "Oh come on, don't pretend you're not interested." He leans back, smug, against the bar. A smug sip of beer.

I consider it. Yes, I am intrigued. Draco Malfoy, after all these years. He's not been awful just yet. Rich and powerful, and definitely _not hard on the eyes_. Dare I even think such a thing. Of course I'm intrigued. But interested?

"Fine," I say, finally, sighing heavily. "Don't expect me to act like I did in school. I have changed."

"Wouldn't dream of it. So have I," he admits, that smirk plastered onto his face. I almost laugh. I've seen the papers and the gossip magazines, when I can't find anything more intellectual to read. Filled with images of his late-night and early-morning escapades and conquests. Beautiful women coming and going from his beautiful mansion, all the time. The scandals, magazines call them.

"Yeah, right," I say, laughing to myself. He raises a single, pale eyebrow, and gestures which direction we should leave. Good timing. A soppy love song has just begun the very first few strikes of a piano. Eugh.

I lead the way to the French doors, out into the gardens beyond, now adorned with fairly lights and lamps hanging from trees in a large variety of colours. To make up for the pretty colours of flowers that can be seen during the daytime, I suppose. Then again, Ginny does have a particular fondness for fairy lights, so maybe the colours were her choice. It's far quieter outside, with only the noise of music leaking out to permeate the silence. There is no one else outside, thankfully. Malfoy closes the door behind him, causing the music to die away a little more. Not completely. Muffled.

"You shouldn't believe everything you see in the tabloids," says Malfoy very quietly, wandering around the back of the mansion, into the wider expanse of grounds. Where the flowers are in fewer collections, and instead, there is a bench and the broad lawns. I take a sip of my drink, enjoying the gum-receding feeling a little. The strength of the drink could definitely be put to good use. To either forgetting this conversation, or making it somewhat decent.

"So you're saying none of it is true?" I ask, walking backwards momentarily. Then turning again so I don't trip, as I know I am prone to do. I stumble very slightly and scowl at myself. That wasn't graceful. Not that it matters.

"Absolutely not," Malfoy agrees, putting a hand deep into his trouser pocket and sipping at his beer.

"Rubbish," I laugh, feeling that slight freedom that alcohol provides. He simply shakes his head at my words, looking down at his feet. As if watching where he is going, but I assume that he doesn't need help with that, so is taking the time to think about something. At least I don't have to worry about my heels sinking into the mud, having changed into my flats: The great conquerors of muddy grounds and sore feet. I can't dance in heels very well, so there's not a huge point to them after the ceremony. "Draco Malfoy, I do not believe for a one second that you have not had a girlfriend since sixth form."

Malfoy points out the bench several metres away, and makes a beeline for it, gesturing that I should follow. His sits down.

"No, Granger," he says simply, shrugging and laying his flats upon the air. A small drop of beer sloshes out, and he takes another sip from the bottle.

"I don't believe you. I've seen the photos, Malfoy." He shakes his head dismissively. As if thinking 'those ones', with the lack of good nature about whoever took the photos in his mind.

"Try me," he suggests. I move closer to sit beside him on the bench, dress rustling in the movement and the breeze of the evening air. It's cool outside, but not unpleasant. Unusual for an evening in May, but certainly beneficial for tonight. The leaves rustle too, as if daring me to test Malfoy. To check his conniving ways, and he wrong. Ha. To see whether he is the same. Lying, desperate and annoying.

"Astoria Greengrass," I begin.

"Business deal."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it, now?" I ask with a smirk heavily displayed. Malfoy simply looks at me, utterly incredulous. But pleased? That can't be good. Oh God.

"Granger, what has happened to you? You used to be a prude. And now...? Making a dirty joke. That is a man's task!" He takes a hearty swig of beer, as if to seal his words with a testosterone-filled action. I find it a little hurtful that I'm not allowed to make a dirty joke, in his book. And that he thought I was a prude. I made out with that exchange student in Year 10, Victor Krum. Malfoy's outburst is both unexpected and intriguing. I utterly blame it on the alcohol we have both consumed; a natural thing to do at weddings: Get drunk with strangers, and bond with them. Malfoy and I are as good as strangers.

So I avoid his question entirely. Knowing the answer. But certainly nowhere near to telling him, of all people.

"Okay, explain then?" I demand, coolly. "Business?" The phrasing is polite, but we're both smirking. Thinking of my joke. Well, I am. Malfoy shrugs nonchalantly.

"Her father wanted to strike up a deal about percentage hold in Malfoy company. Exchange some things for a cut in profit. Wanted to wager, so sent his daughter." He pauses, considering his words. "We grew up together, both around business-orientated families. Smart move. She knew what she was doing." He smirks. "Didn't fool me. I knew the comparative worth." I nod along, pretending to understand. But there's more. "She stayed the night at mine because it's a seven hour drive back to her home in Wiltshire."

Makes sense, but she could have gotten a hotel room... Then again, they grew up together. It would be a bit of common courtesy - If Draco Malfoy posses such a thing.

I nod in understanding, again. The photo was shot very suggestively, so I guess it's easy to see how these things could be manipulated to strangers' eyes. To tell people what could be seen, other than what is actually being seen. I only half hope Malfoy isn't offended by my asking.

"Pansy?" I question, feeling as though I am testing him.

"Really, Granger? That rumour?" He laughs shortly, amused with me. I fold my arms, almost spilling my drink in the process. Damn. "Didn't think you were that sort of girl." I look at him questioningly. "Gossipy."

"I thought it had substance," I shrug, retaliating.

"Pansy Parkinson? God." Malfoy shudders. "I kissed her once, then everyone thought she was pregnant with my child when she started wearing those bulky jumpers." He gestures a bump with his hands and shudders again. "People thought I was _that guy_. Pansy and I never did it. We've met up as friends since - for coffee or lunch. Never anything remotely romantic."

 _That guy?_ I decide not to ask.

"I never heard the pregnancy rumour," I muse, thinking back to the old days of high school. There were, of course, plenty of rumours about everyone - especially Draco Malfoy - so maybe that one just bypassed me. Certainly, I had heard the one about Blaise Zabini and Rosy Watling during year 12. And plenty others involving Malfoy's seemingly expressively-active sex life. Gross. I never wanted to hear about any of that. Any of what he was doing, or what anyone else was doing. Not my thing, really.

"You were a recluse."

"You were an arse."

"Touché."

Malfoy is silent for a moment, and stares down into his bottle of remaining beer. He takes a pensive sip and glances at around us. Then, almost inaudibly, he mutters, "Yes, I was." Then louder. "Another drink? Vodka lemonade again?" I hardly have time to nod before my glass is snatched from me and Draco Malfoy is sauntering back to the French doors to the party - light floods the area where he returns briefly. It leaves me wondering. What happened to Draco Malfoy? Rich Boy Extraordinaire. Known for being a arse and loving himself for it.

Has the world really changed him that much? Working in the tough business line? Or has it been people, who have made him see a sense? It's strange. I like his confidence, but I suppose he is... Uncertain? Of who to be?

Footsteps penetrate my thoughts, and the rattling of ice inside my new glass of drink. I decide to go back to the guessing game we had earlier.

"I've got one." I grin at his confusion and take the drink from him.

"One what?"

"Your supposed girlfriends. Marla Stevenson." A flash of recognition races across his face and I swear I see a hint of blush travelling over his cheeks and neck. Standing out against the very pale skin. It definitely isn't the heat of the evening - substantial breeze between us now. Maybe it's not embarrassment? Anger?

"Blimey." Malfoy whistles out a low, slow breath. And I sense I have caught him out, finally. "I forgot about her."

"Ha!" I shout at him, triumphant. "Have I won?" He stares at me in bewilderment and chokes on the next sip of beer, leaving me to grin. Malfoy laughs briefly at his own antics, wiping his mouth and smirking. But he has that look in his eye again. Like he thinks he is right and I have lost. Oh great.

"Absolutely not," he says, resolute. "She was Zabini's girlfriend at the time, and stayed over one evening while we were waiting for news about him at the hospital. She was distraught - it was an emergency procedure. And he was in hospital for a while after the operation, so she crashed at mine." He laughs bitterly. "Of course, it was all over the magazines that I'd slept with her - my 'latest conquest', they said." Another bitter laugh and a swig of beer.

"What happened?" I ask before I can consciously stop myself.

"It forced them apart. They separated over the issue." He glances around, as if not wanting to meet my eyes. "Blaise tends to prefer his women if they're not shacking up with me. Kinda ruined our friendship for a while." Malfoy coughs uncomfortably and swigs at his beer again, thinking of what happened those years ago. Suddenly quiet, I'm not entirely sure of what to say. To this other side of Draco Malfoy.

"What was he in hospital for?"

I tell myself that I'm just checking his story. But decide not to consider any consideration or care that I might have.

"Appendectomy." I turn away from him. It feels like there is something more to be said, but I don't want to look at him to omit such a thing. I'm too caught up in my silence to think about the next thing that happens. Humming. Music emanates from the room. Sweet sounds of a classical guitar and a melancholy voice. But I know the tune. It's sweet and soft and one of my favourites. Malfoy mutters, "what is happening," savagely before continuing to stare at me.

"Shut up," I demand, less harshly than I intended to say it. Trying to pick up the words that I sometimes can't always remember correctly. The quiet ones and the longer notes and the faltering messages.

"Why?" he demands in an interested tone.

"I like this song," I muse, still trying to listen to the music and the words forming in my head. Obviously, I shouldn't even begin to expect that Malfoy would give me anything of what I want - which is to listen to the song, at the moment.

"This rubbish!" he exclaims. "Blimey, Granger, I thought you might like more decent things than this. With all your..." He waves his hands around, "Intelligence." He shakes his head in bemusement. A couple of strands of pale blonde hair fall across his eyesight, but are quickly brushed aside by the wind. I think of my own hair, snarled in it's place, surrounded by knotted tendrils. Urgh. Hair jealousy.

"Yes, this rubbish," I argue, smirking. "I happen to like it. I expect you're more into your usual posh repertoire of orchestral pieces, and nothing less than a million pound worth of stage." The mirth in my tone disguises any bitterness I might have felt in my youth. I happen to like classical music, but I will not be telling him that. I only have the very faint resentment now. If even that.

"I like classical music." I raise an eyebrow, having never considered him to be musical, as such. Of possessing such creativity as someone might need to listen to classical music. Granted, that is a rather close-minded view. Malfoy is smiling though, in that slightly sarcastic way. "How dare you insult me, of all people." I try not to snort in laughter. The irony is too much.

"You insulted me first."

"And I am eternally sorry." It could be the alcohol that we have both consumed, so I am not certain if I really do detect the seriousness in his voice, which I am not completely enamoured with. Perhaps he feels a little of the same. "Let's dance." Malfoy stands and places his beer down on the now-vacated seat.

"You must be joking," I laugh. "Who the hell _are_ you?"

"I am Draco Malfoy," he announces, placing a hand on his chest with that pride he holds. I shake my head in surprise.

"And you're obviously pissed to want to dance with me." Malfoy laughs and shakes his head at my words, placing his hands into his pockets. Supposedly the epitome of cool - looking casual and not at all interested, though very interesting. Behaving as though I am something greatly amusing, and also greatly annoying. Such a strange look from someone so hateful. Well, allegedly.

"Madam," he begins in a deep voice, pretending to slur, and then stopping very suddenly. As if he knows it sounds ridiculous. "I have merely had a couple of glasses of wine, and two beers so far. I am not pissed. I can hold my liquor. Now, dance with me?" I laugh at him. Malfoy's expression doesn't falter. He doesn't move to open his body language so much. But his eyes are laughing. Or planning my death. Happily.

"Why?" I query, not daring to stand and to take his hand. To dance with him. He must have gone insane. Probably all that work.

"Maybe I want to dance with you." _He's definitely insane._

"I really don't understand why you would." I shrug slightly.

It's one of those things where I don't know that I mean it at all. I should be perfectly allowed to dance with Draco Malfoy if I wanted. And I suppose that I wouldn't mind. It's ludicrous that he would want to dance with me. But's he's being nice. For once. He's being different. I don't know how to react to it, I suppose.

"Christ, Hermione, just give me your hand," Malfoy demands, sticking out one hand for me to grab, should I magically decide to dance with him.

The Draco Malfoy who tormented me through my childhood and through my sixth form and early-adulthood years. The Draco Malfoy who caused that slither of doubt to fester into an entire beast of being. The Draco Malfoy who just called me by my first name. The name rolling easily off his lips, as though he'd practiced it in his youth. Said it to me, instead of the famous 'Granger'. And he's used it twice this evening. It's to set anyone's heart racing with suspicion.

"Jesus, please, no Malfoy."

He looks unperturbed. Which worries me.

"Fine," he mutters, grinning maliciously, and grabbing my drink from my fingers, pulling my hands up so that I am forced to stand in front of him.

"It doesn't matter, I can't really hear the music," I tell him, uncomfortable at the proximity. "I don't want to dance." The words come with such finality that they surprise even me. Malfoy looks frozen, for a nanosecond. He then relinquishes his hold and elicits the next words in a harsh tone. Not unkind, but harsh.

"You mean you don't want to dance with me."

We're still standing a little too close to each other. I take a step back, and Malfoy doesn't move. He glances away, taking his beer from the bench and listening out. For some reason, I want him to look at me. To talk to me. About whatever it is that's going on inside his head. A strange thought indeed.

"That's not what -"

"It's fine, Granger. Really, I get it." He sighs heavily and presses his heels into the soft ground. "Mean Draco Malfoy is disturbing your evening of selective peace." He stops completely and we hear the muted rumbling of applause from inside the hall. The song has definitely ended, and our moment is certainly ended. _Moment. Unlikely._ Eugh. And Malfoy asks again. "What happened between you and the Weasel?"

"I told you, it was amicable." Malfoy swigs his beer and shakes his head disbelievingly.

"And yet, you seem awfully sad." He pauses. "I don't believe you."

"What makes you say that?" I ask, quietly. A new song has begun inside, but much slowly and softer. Restful, with a lilting, beautiful voice. Peaceful, almost. It must be nearing toward the end of this particular set. I can't hear the lyrics and I don't recognise the tune. Odd.

"Well, you're out here, in the cold, with me, your childhood bully. Why would you not want to stick with your friends." He shakes his head. "It doesn't add up."

"I'd rather be here with you, than in there with him." The words escape me before I can register my want to say them. My desire to tell exactly how it is. Having been completely fed up of lying to families and friends about how things ended. And about why we're broken up. The reasons I haven't found anyone new, yet. I blame Ron. And the wine. The cursed wine.

"There it is again, Granger," Malfoy sighs, following with a bitter laugh.

We remain in silence for a short while. I know that Malfoy is laughing at my internally. Thinking of how silly I am to hide behind this version of myself. And here he is, again, forcing me to admit to a slither of doubt. Assuredly to press further to a fully-fledged panic over what I am doing and why.

"Fine," I huff. "I'll tell you. But, for Christ's sake, sit down."

He sits. No asshole version of himself present.

"We used to fight," I start. He raises that single, pale eyebrow, again. Demonstrating his mocking of me. I glare him down. To shut him up before he can start. "We fought constantly. He disagreed with everything I chose, did, or said. Where we lived, what we bought, who we saw, what we did, what I was allowed to do." Malfoy's eyes flash in annoyance. Good. "It was exhausting. He was refusing to grow up and let me make decisions; refusing to let go of any semblance of control." I sigh. "He's always been confrontational. Petulant and demanding at times." Malfoy snorts derisively. "He wanted more than what I could offer."

He looks up at this.

"What did he want?"

"Malfoy, it's a little complicated," I protest. Fully understanding I am going against my word to tell him everything, in this moment. I am whining, but not caring. This part of it could be too personal to reveal to an ex-enemy. However, I could blame it all on the alcohol in the morning if I need to. Malfoy is giving me this hard look. Steely, grey eyes, and everything. The power look.

"Try me."

Lord, does he say it with... Gusto. That power look on his face and the slight fierceness of his tone. Daring me to challenge him on this. Oh God. I try looking for something around me to talk about; something far simpler than this. Given that I haven't spoken to anyone else about this - not even Ginny or Harry or my parents - that makes it especially hard to tell a certain blonde ferret-boy, who happens to have called me a menagerie of awful names throughout out school lives. Or so it feels.

 _Dramatic much?_

Then again, people say talking to a stranger is better. There's no resounding judgement. You're unlikely to see them again. Here goes.

"Granger, just tell me."

"He... He wanted a family." First hurdle. Next ones, here we go. "He _wants_ a family. Babies and marriage. Big Christmases and all that malarkey. Yeah, at twenty-four!" I breathe for a moment. "He wanted to live near his parents, and be with them a lot of the time. It was... Awful." The word escapes before I can change my mind. "He couldn't decide on anything and had no real ambition, and wanted to live that same life he had always considered. Settle down early, hate his job, and _bring home the bacon_." I pause again to take a drink, steeling myself. "I felt trapped. Stuck in a life I didn't want. With someone I didn't really want to settle down with, in the end."

I drain the drink, remembering the final night.

"We had this raging fight about it. All of it. I told him everything I was thinking. And he said I didn't love him enough to make it work. And I guess that I didn't. I told him that too. He wanted more, but I couldn't give any more. So it was over."

I look over at Malfoy, who is watching me closely and silently, and choose my words as carefully as I can.

"Fuck. He was right. But I wanted more than a small life, living with my high school boyfriend, kids by twenty-five." I glance at my empty drink. Damn. That went quickly. "We were both too different for each other, in the end. He wanted someone on a different intellectual level, and who would give him babies, should he demand. I didn't want to be that. We decided to be friends, and to tell everybody it was amicable. Even if it wasn't completely."

The breeze itself shits uncomfortable around us. Malfoy is looking at me still, but my eyes are watching the ivy I can barely see, crawling up the wall. A very slight prickling in my eyes tells me that I should not say a word. For a while. Maybe a long while. Who knows.

Malfoy breaks the silence, without hint of laughter in his voice.

"Well, shit."

I nod, laughing shortly and quietly. Perhaps more bitterly than I had intended. A chill passes over us and I shiver involuntarily. Malfoy looks away, thinking.

"Anyway," I say. "It was a year and a half ago now. It doesn't matter. I'm over it." My voice betrays me a little, sound thick. I can only hope he pins it down to the drunkenness, and my tiredness at this late hour.

"Good," he murmurs. "Dance with me, Granger." I raise my eyebrows in confusion. Dance? _What if he's taking pity on me? Or mocking me? Because I just exposed everything... Oh lordy. I told everything to Draco Malfoy..._

"Why?"

"I like this song." Malfoy stands and places the empty beer bottle onto the bench. Smirking. Bloody smirking. Oh great.

"Hadn't pegged you as a Shar Sistre lover," I comment, looking up at him. Having finally recognised the slightly more upbeat song. Malfoy grimaces for half a second, listening. But his smirking doesn't falter.

"I just want to dance with you!" He proclaims loudly, gesturing and grinning at me. He must be ridiculously drunk. Obviously. I roll my eyes at him and fold my arms, feeling that I shouldn't play to his attentions.

The wind rolls past us again, causing the goosebumps to reappear on my pale skin. Definitely should have brought a cardigan, alas it is definitely a bit late for that now. Malfoy takes my hand, leaving a very slight tingle there, and pulls me to stand in front of him. He begins to sway, and I almost laugh at him. Glad the music isn't too sloppy, just a little slow, and soft. The way I might imagine a sweet French Romantic to finish. With the girl whisked away from her enemies on a retro motorbike, clutching onto her lover and saviour.

Yet, it's me. Dew-soaked shoes. Twirling with Malfoy.

I guess it's not so bad.

It's odd, though. Draco Malfoy attempting to cheer me up with the power of dance. Very odd indeed. The world has clearly turned completely on it's head. I decide to play our little game again, when I guess which of his 'girlfriends' were actually girlfriends. This feels like common ground, now.

"So, who was your last girlfriend?" An innocent question, and he's quick to answer.

"Cresta Cunningham. Year Twelve."

"Malfoy that was seven years ago!" I laugh out loud and stop for a moment, staring at him. He doesn't let go of my hand. I pretend not to notice. He's as serious as he would be if he were telling the truth. Then again, Malfoy was known for being an exceptional liar. Both then and now.

"So?" He asks, innocent as anything. I laugh again and throw my head back this time, not believing one bit. Utterly ludicrous.

"I am afraid that I do not believe you," I say simply, in answer to his staring at me. His hair falls slightly into his eyes as he shakes his head in amusement. And pulls me closer. Not that I notice in the very slightest. At all. The song inside reaches a shaky crescendo, finishing with a terrible follow-on note to the next verse.

"Some of us don't need relations to sort their lives out," he says quietly and smirks. "While you and Weasley were shacking up, I have been endeavouring in the world of business and travel. Big cities and bright lights, you know." He smirks and twirls me again so fast I almost fall. And gosh, do I wish I knew. About the wonderful world and all it holds, and how business feels. Powerful? Freeing?

"So you're a virgin?" I ask, grinning and knowing the answer. He laughs immediately, signalling that I am right.

"Fuck no," he almost shouts. I laugh then shiver again as another bluster of wind whirls through us. A few stray leaves bound across the grass over our feet. Mine in flats, his in those fancy, shiny shoes for the occasion. There is a silence that falls between us again, but it's not entirely uncomfortable as the times beforehand. Almost pleasant, but not quite. "Cold, Granger? We can go inside if you want?"

"No." I smile politely and step back from him a little, still not letting go of his hand for some reason. Again, not that it makes a difference. His other hand rests on my back. I smile wider, not necessarily thinking about my response. "I wish I had the money to travel. I've just never really had much chance."

"Save up," he advises simply.

"It's not that simple."

"How is it not?" He asks, moving as if to step away, but staying anyway. The song has long-since finished.

"I have expenses," I say, frowning. "Money that has to be spent elsewhere. I have to pay for my own utilities and taxes. It doesn't come on a plate for everyone, unlike business extraordinaire, Draco Malfoy." He doesn't say anything but merely frowns back at me, thinking. It's not a face I have seen often. In our school years he would only consider which hurtful thing to say next. Whether it was about my beaver-teeth, or my frizzy hair, or heritage. Comes with being intelligent, and never applying empathy. I suppose.

"Get a job."

"I have a job!" I exclaim and he twirls me again. I almost don't follow through just for sheer not-anger-fuelled-outrage. "Two, in fact!"

"Barriers, Granger. Barriers." He twirls me again. It's quite dizzying, all of this dancing. The wind and the rush of air and Malfoy's face spinning to meet me. Expect when I stop spinning, he is still swaying gently across my vision. Definitely too much alcohol by now. Ooooopsies. Malfoy changes the subject. "How long did you and the Weasel date?" He sounds curious, but I suppose he is trying to avoid uncomfortable topics. Like my lack of money, or drive, or the fact that I should not have attended Hogwarts - that I didn't deserve it. That I should have used my scholar-worthy supposed intelligence to get me a better job than the one I have.

The things I tell myself.

"Five years."

"Jesus, that is a long time." He whistles in a low tone and sways me to one side. Or maybe that's the vodka spinning me now.

"It was a long-term relationship," I agree and don't dare to look at him. Not sure I can. Maybe I'll vomit. Maybe I'll cry. All bets are off. "How long did you and Cresta date? A week? Or less?"

"Maybe six months or more." Painfully honest. "Long enough to warrant a shag, but not enough that I had to become emotionally invested." I snort in a very unladylike manner, but don't care. So bloody Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Wants a shag, but no actual involvement. None of that real relationship crap. No empathy. No consideration. Nothing for charming Cresta Cunningham. Just a damn good shag for Malfoy.

"Wow. You were such an arse." He smiles politely, but something is missing from his expression. Did I say something wrong? "What the hell did she see in you?"

"Probably my dashing good looks and incredible intelligence," he says smirking expressively. I laugh at him, wondering how someone could really be that conceited. But it could only ever be Malfoy who was like that. Arse. "You don't think I'm intelligent?" He sounds hurt. Or is that the alcohol?

"I don't think you're dashingly good looking," I say, laughing. The laughter has got to stop. I must sound ridiculous. But he simply smiles. And calls me a liar and asks why I dance with him now. I admit, "You did ask..." and he smirks at that. His hand pressed on my back, other hand holding mine and twirling me every so often in time to the music neither of us can hear all that well. It's a strange sensation. Draco Malfoy. Dancing. With me.

"I did indeed."

He stops moving all of a sudden and I realise that the music has, yet again, stopped. The applause from inside the mansion is faint and weak. As if people are tiring of the dancing and the expressions of drunkenness and the party spirit. His face slackens from the smirk he has worn and his hand loosens the tight push on the small of my back. He begins to talk, and to my utter surprise.

"Look... Hermione." He pauses as if choosing his words carefully. One of his hands travels to his hair and drags through the short blonde locks. Agitation? Nerves? For impressiveness? No idea. He continues slowly, "I'm... I'm sorry for everything. Everything I said and did during high school, and sixth form, and everything onwards, which hurt you. It was horrible, cruel and childish and definitely unwarranted. Hell, if I ever meant it then, I certainly do not mean it now. Let me make that crystal clear.

His voice is gentle and, for a moment, I I am not entirely sure if I hear him at al, but I acknowledge what he says. In the dulling evening and crisp air, suddenly it really doesn't matter anymore. Instead, I find myself chuckling and half-smiling at the strage man who has manifested before me. How can this possibly be Draco Malfoy. And, in my drunken state, it's funny. Everything is utterly ridiculous. An old joke.

"What?" I laugh. He barely has a moment to respond. "That I was too poor and unworthy to attend such a prestigious school? That my blood was insufficient?" How can that have ever possibly mattered? Unworthy blood. It's ridiculous. I am smiling, but Malfoy does not seem to be. Sad? I don't think about it. My mind is on striped yellow butterflies. I wonder that breed that is... _Is that a breed?_

"I knew you were there for good reason, Hermione," he says quietly, probably not wanting to draw attention to his words and the content of confession. Yet my inebriated reverie is broken and I am all ears. He used my name again. I didn't miss that. But he's looking into my eyes and my mind has slowed it's whirring. "You're intelligent; brilliant. Always have been. No wonder you got that scholarship." He smirks a little. Private joke? Glances away and back. "I was jealous."

"Ha!" I burst out very suddenly, causing Draco to stumble backwards in surprise. But I'm just laughing - though not unkindly. In the depth of my mind I wonder what is funny, and then realise I have no idea. But I am utterly silly - knees together, hands on thighs, choking through laughing kind of silly. Struggling for breath I exclaim, "my God, I knew it!" And then I laugh some more. Relief? He seems especially perplexed when I begin giggling nonsensically, perhaps even more so when I press my face to his chest, filled with mirth. In fact, I swear I can feel him smiling. "Are you taking the piss?"

"Absolutely not," he says leaning back so he can look at me. Draco Malfoy's pale grey eyes are watching me in amusement. He half laughs. An eyelash has fallen on his cheek. Stark against pallid. I pick it off carefully and bow. Then shiver at the breeze.

"Apology accepted," I murmur, smiling serenely. Then I laugh again, breaking the silence, and shake my head. I pat his chest kindly and say, "get me another drink and tell me about all of these wonderful places you've been."

He smirks at me and raises an eyebrow, already beginning to wander backwards towards the rainbow lights being emitted by Harry and Ginny's reception party. Some kind of cheesy tune by now. He pauses in his walking backwards, but he is close enough that I can hear him. He hasn't walked far at all. I take a few steps closer, uncertain.

"Warning," he says with a smirk. "This may lead to drunkenness."

I laugh at his comment.

"Draco Malfoy, this is a wedding. I am allowed!" I try to be huffy and bossy, but it's near-impossible in this state. So, I end up laughing yet again. He almost smiles, but it dies at his eyes - not that I can see what's really going on in his mind. But I'm curious. He begins to turn away, so I have to ask before this spell is broken. This moment of calm and quiet. "Malfoy, what happened to you?"

His lips press into a thin line. He barely thinks.

"Sobered up," he says and turns to get us more alcohol.

At this thought, I find it all highly ironic, and amble back to the safety-island that is the bench. I don't know whether to laugh or not, and stick with the gentle smile I seem to have adopted since the laughing fit. The scent of freshly mown grass slinking through the air and bringing the end of spring. The intoxicating scents joining together in the cool evening.

I fall back against the bench and think about the man who led me outside, away from my best friends. And how very changed he appears to be.


	5. Chapter 5

**Something slightly shorter this time, in keeping with my monthly updates in between writing for this competition! I very much hope you enjoy this one!**

 **0-0-0-0**

Over the next hour or so, Draco Malfoy tells me of the innumerable things he has seen and done - of the places he has been and the little accomplishments. Like the fact that he went skydiving and climbed mountains and ventured over countries I have barely heard of. It's completely enthralling. With each new story, his face is slight with memories - mostly fond - and the stories begin to chase each other. One about Italy, turning into another about France, then China, and finally back to Italy.

As if his excitement of his life simply has no ends.

My drink lasts far longer than the previous two, and I'm not laughing in the same incensed way as before - bonus! - but in the way that responds to his new humour. Malfoy is interesting. Intriguing. More so than I had considered. That tone of voice that tells you this is what he loves about his life and what he has experienced thus far. Azure skies, torrential rain, and botanical gardens of beauty. The colours and wonders of the world he has seen.

Hearing him talk about all of these, it only deepens my desire to go - anywhere in the world. It's not difficult to picture the places he describes; he doesn't need photos to tell me what it would be like. Every sensation is detailed - scents, tastes, the heat of moments or the cool breeze. In these moments I can travel to where he is and I don't feel quite so trapped.

Unfortunately, in the last hour or so, two things have happened - aside from Draco's mesmerising stories. One, the shrouding night has fallen. Meaning it is cold and black, despite the flickering fairy lights around trees and flower beds. Two, my bladder is beginning to catch up to the amount of drinks I have had. I cannot stay out here much longer.

"Do you want to go inside?" Malfoy asks from beside me, a curious expression on his face. "You look cold." I roll my eyes at him and shudder, in spite of myself.

"No, I'm enjoying this," I reply too quickly. My teeth are beginning to chatter which is definitely not a good thing. It's a sure sign that yes I should definitely go inside. Instead of saying this, I push my teeth together in order to hold them steady. A terrible idea which my parents, as dentists, would greatly admonish. But, I refuse to go in until I have to.

However, Draco, suddenly becoming this ridiculously well-travelled and funny man in my rose-tinted eyes, notices my absurd attempts and frowns. He presses the back of his pale hand onto my cheek and then my bare shoulder.

"Christ, Granger, you're freezing!" He stands and tries to pull me up with him, but I am not budging. "Come on, let's go inside now." He takes a hold of my forearm and tries to take me with him but I pull away from him and shake my head. Adamant. I will not go inside until I decide to.

"Just a few more minutes." I can see his want to scowl, but he doesn't. Plus, I am warm on the inside. Does that count for nothing? Surely, I should be fine! It's only May! Meanwhile, Draco seems to be having an internal battle, eventually sighing heavily - and a little angrily - and plonking back down on the bench beside me. He almost glares when I rub my hands on my arms for more warmth, but I raise an eyebrow and he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around my shoulder.

"If you're going to be preposterous," he says, explaining himself. "At least take this, for now. Put your arms through the sleeves." He looks away from me. I don't miss the _for now_. He doesn't wish me to keep it. Fair enough. It's insanely comfortable and warm. Probably extortionate in price. But did I mention that it's comfy?

"Thank you," I murmur, my head whirring again from the cool air and the alcohol heading to a crescendo. I rest my head on his shoulder. He stiffens but says nothing, eventually putting a gentle arm around me, trying to warm me up. Then he has the audacity to pointedly look at his watch, as if actually timing me. I roll my eyes and my head is whirring all over again. It's a confusing mix of being both light and heavy headed. Tired and yet awake at the same time.

If I listen carefully, I can just about hear the muffled dance tunes that are still raging on inside. It must be nearly over now though. Some cheesy classics. Probably agadoo and YMCA. The big dance tunes that almost every wedding has now. Along with some of the older rock classics like Summer of 69 and Livin' on a Prayer. Definitely some of the best songs that ever came out of the music industry.

It's several minutes before Draco takes back his arm and tells me we're going inside now. I stick out my arms like an innocent child who wants to be picked up. He raises an eyebrow in a reproving manner and folds his arms. I glare at him jokingly and stand up by myself. Then feel like a newly born deer. The ground feels very much not solid, but I appear to be walking and Malfoy is saying something to me and I should definitely probably be listening, but I am definitely thinking more about where my foot is going next and that my other foot should be following it in a similar pattern.

I must look utterly imbecilic.

As soon as we reach the French doors and shuffle inside, it's clear we have returned at the right time. The dances are in full swing and, even though about half the people have gone off to bed, there is no one looking towards us. We are able to slip inside, unnoticed, and place my glass and Draco's bottle on the nearest table, both empty.

"Back in a minute," he tells me and I stand just inside the door - now closed - and watch the people. It's not difficult to spot Harry ad Ron. They're amidst a sea of red-headed people, every single one of them dancing out to the jamming tunes. Doing the funky chicken, even though the song is not remotely appropriate. Ginny is laughing heartily with Fred and George, her dress pulled up to her knees to show off her moves. Mr and Mrs Weasley are twirling around the edges of the dancefloor. Neville Longbottom is head-banging and doing the lindy-hop simultaneously. I laugh and consider that to be an incredible feat.

"HERMIONE!"

Harry is the one who shouts my name and then calls out like a bird before racing over to me and dragging me with him, giggling like a fool. I stumble along with him, laughing at his attitude. Having never seen him in such a strange state, but appreciating it nonetheless. Even better, he begins a frivolous dance and urges Ron to join him and then both of them are shouting at me. It's not long before we're tapping our feet and turning in circles, hands stretched high in the air, something very different playing from the DJ booth to what is playing in our heads.

Twirling in circles causes Malfoy's jacket to flap out behind me, but neither of my two best friends notice. Harry and Ron simply grab my hands and we spin in a collective circle and then begin the hokey-cokey. Even though Sweet Caroline has just come on. God, does it feel like freedom.

The cha cha slide comes o and I'm looking for Draco, my intent being that he join in instantly, but he's standing by the bar - well away from us - and smirking. I try to wave him over but Harry grabs me for the Charlie Brown and some off-beat sidestepping. The moment is then lost as I am lost in the crowd.

"Okay everyone, last song!" The DJ calls in the mic over the hubbub in the room and something a little slower comes on.

There is the moment of drunken protest before people accept that there won't be any songs after this one. The moment when people just decide to dane instead of arguing. Ron is immediately pulled away by Natalie and I glance over at Draco, who is taking a large sip of his drink. My arm is grabbed and I'm spun in a full circle before I realise it's Harry who is dancing with me now. My mind is whirring again, but I feel a new calm with the new quiet of the room. The music is blaring and the people are still laughing around the room, but it's a different speed. For certain.

"How has your day been?" I ask him, smiling as we sway in drunken stupor. He grins that signature Harry grin. The one that is utterly at peace and equally mischievous. The one that lets me know before he even utters the words.

"The best day of my life," he says. He then smiles as though he has the biggest secret and leans close, adding, "I saw you and Malfoy leave earlier." My heart clenches at his words in slight fear, but Harry merely laughs. "I won't tell Ron."

"He wouldn't care," I murmur, not really paying any mind to what Ron might think of my talking to Draco Malfoy. Harry chuckles, sending a vibration through the swaying dance. "Either way, it's none of his business."

"Did he do anything to make me worry for my friend?" Harry asks suddenly, not slowing our small cyclical dance.

"Draco? No, of course not. He's changed," I murmur.

"Well that's fine then."

We remain in silence for the next couple of seconds before Harry utters,

"You deserve to be happy. Whatever does it, I don't mind." Then pauses. "As long as it's not masochism." And we both laugh until the song ends and the DJ calls that the music is being turned off and the bar is closing for the night. There is a very small collective groan, but everybody is tired and drunk and probably wanting their bed or other activities in that vicinity.

Harry and Ginny hug me before scrambling up the stairs after each other and Ron gives a brief one-handed hug before trailing Natalie. Mr and Mrs Weasley decide to stay downstairs for a chat in the drawing room before bad - along with a few miscellaneous others including Harry's godfather, Sirius, and his best friend, Lupin.

I drag Malfoy's jacket closer to my shoulders and chest and stumble half-heartedly towards the stairs which lead up to my room. My head is feeling suddenly ridiculously heavy and the thought of thinking makes me tired. The ground appears to be racing towards me in an unkind way and the steps are looking harder than most to conquer. I glance around, checking to see if anyone will notice if I fall over.

Clear.

One step. Up. Yes foot, up. Not down. Up first. God, why is this so hard.

"Jesus, Granger, what the fuck are you doing?"

Malfoy bloody talking to me. Just trying to get up stairs. Will go to bed.

"Hello! Hermione!" He calls, floorboards creaking as he approaches, somewhat gingerly. I don't look at him and instead focus on moving my foot. Yes! First step done! And the next! "What - are you trying to get up the stairs?" He asks rather incredulously. I don't have half the brain cells to be insulted. "That is laughable," he muses. I imagine glaring at him. Not as good as the real thing, but certainly a step in the right direction. "Ignoring me now? Classy." He huffs.

"Sorry, what are you on about?" I mumble, not turning to face him, but instead trying to tackle the next step. He laughs, which comes as a surprise to me. "You're here? Why are you here?"

"I told you, Granger, Potter invited me," he says, rolling his grey eyes and swirling his amber drink - whiskey? - before taking a sip.

"No!" I shout unceremoniously and Malfoy scowls. His lips move in an utterance - I have no clue what - but I know I have to interrupt him. "No! I know! I know! I meant... I meant... What are you doing... _here!_ " I gesture to the staircase and where he is standing, the look of incredulity still present even in his slouching stance. He says nothing, merely watching me. Creepy. "You waited for me..?" I ask slowly, not wanting a rise out of him but certainly wanting an answer. I smile tiredly then and yawn, the action making me sway. Urgh.

"I know how much you have had to drink," he states. Then walks towards me. "And I also happen to remember how much you can handle. Not a lot." I smile, feeling the wave of tiredness all over again.

"Come to escort me to bed, Mr Malfoy?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and smirking at him. It sounds awful when it comes from my mouth and I suddenly gape at him. He chuckles. I attempt to drape myself over the banister crawling up the stairs to add to the joke, but end up sliding down onto the floor. He shakes his head in amusement and pushes sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow.

Really. I don't stare. Not at all.

"Not in the way you are insinuating, Granger," he says with a wry smile. "Just making sure you don't injure yourself or collapse or vomit or anything of those sorts of drunkenness-related incident. I remember what happened the last time we were drunk together."

I groan inwardly, the memory flashing over my vision for a couple of seconds. A party held at someone's house - the first party I ever attended - and I had vomited all over Draco Malfoy's legs as he knocked into me. He scowled he into oblivion and then dragged me to the toilet to clean up and held my hair back when I was sick three more times. He then sat with me and insisted that I pay for his jeans or something. But he stayed.

"You were nice," I recall.

"I was awful."

"But you were also nice," I argue. "And you're being nice now."

"Maybe I have ulterior motives." I laugh then. This is not a ploy. He doesn't seem like the type anymore. And I cannot imagine an ulterior motive he would have in relation to me. Utterly ridiculous. He smiles then, and confesses, "Doesn't change how awful I was to you before."

"No, but maybe it makes up for it."

Malfoy sighs heavily and walks toward me, setting his now-empty glass on the table at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at me, really watches. Analysing the movements I make. I don't know how but I can tell he is wondering, thinking, about something deeply. There is the small crease between his eyebrows; an etching into his pale skin.

"I can't rewrite the past," he tells me.

"I told you, I don't care. I'm over it. You're different. I am different." I pause and remember his words from earlier. "You said it yourself. What mattered to us then does not necessarily matter to us now." He silently agrees with me and tugs on my elbow so I am standing straight and we begin to ascend the stairs together, both thinking in the companionable silence.

The three flights of stairs seem to take much longer at the slow pace we go, Draco's hand at my elbow to steady me, and his jacket protecting me from the chill of the mansion. I wonder whether he has goosebumps on his arms like I do on my legs. But I don't ask. We hardly speak at all in our route to the rooms above. The moments are somewhat relaxed and the silence is comfortable - more comfortable than any silence I have ever experienced. He is thinking still and a small smile occupies his features. I guess that inebriation has made him perhaps more cheerful than he would usually be.

I know the feeling. I can't stop myself from smiling and half-laughing at myself stumble at the stairs.

As soon as I began to think about the length at which the journey was taking, we reached the third floor and Malfoy assisted me along the corridor until we reached my door. I stop in front of it and he releases my elbow and puts the same hand into his pocket. I wonder briefly what he would be doing tonight if he were not here, but the thoughts are quickly halted when he questions,

"This you?" and gestures to the door beside me. I nod and watch him again. The slight tension in his cheeks.

"Yeah," I say slowly and then run a hand over my arm. The jacket. "I guess I should give you this back." And he simply nods while I strip off the jacket, revealing pale, cold shoulders. I feel ridiculously bare without it around me and almost shiver. He drapes it over his arm. But is waiting. There is a seemingly impassable moment racing between us. Racing is the wrong word. It appears to be... Frozen. Poised on a precipice. He frowns.

"Okay?" Is that worry I detect in his voice? No, can't be. There's nothing for him to worry about. So I consider him again, attempting to fathom the inflection in his tone. Reluctance? I'm not sure. Instead of really answering, I nod. He twists his mouth a moment and nods in comprehension. There is an inkling of another smile and Draco Malfoy turns away from me, swinging his jacket over his shoulder. Show off.

The door opens easily as I watch him walk slowly away, wondering if he'll even be there in the morning. I reach around my back to unclasp the top of my dress and finally be able to go to bed - perhaps restless.

Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. Shit, bugger. Bugger. I can't. Reach. Bugger.

"Wait!" I shout out as Malfoy nears the staircase, knowing that I won't be able to get help from anyone else at this time of night. His head whips around immediately, seeming to cause him pain in that moment. He scowls deeply and wanders back to me, single eyebrow raised and demanding.

"Blimey, hush! There are people trying to sleep!" He whispers harshly, as if I am a child. Which I definitely do not like, having been getting used to the kinder and more adult Draco Malfoy. I bristle and blush under his gaze, suddenly realizing how very tall he is.

"I... I need your help." I murmur the words as quietly as I can and he watches me, uncertain. Curious, maybe. I blush even deeper. It's horrible. I can feel the heat radiating from my face like a blazing furnace. I swallow heavily and look away from him to the open door and try fixing my eyes elsewhere to avoid the rushing heat to my cheeks.

"With what, Granger."

"I can't get out of my dress."

The words tumble from my lips in a blurt. Malfoy swallows and again looks at my curiously. He laughs. Then cocks his head to the side, as if asking what he should do about it, then laughs again. He mutters a short 'are you serious' before turning to walk away again. As if I am some big jokester. "No, Malfoy, I am serious. I can't get out of it. I can't reach." I pause. "There's a catch at the back and my arms are too short. I forgot. Ginny did it up earlier."

Again, he considers me. As if whether this is a ruse or I am playing, or something different. Eyebrow raised.

"Please," I ask quietly. Let the record show, this is not a proud moment for me. I swallow and attempt to reach the clasp again. Nope. Bugger. Alas, just when I am about to give up and let Malfoy go, he rolls his eyes and says,

"Fine," before stalking past me into the room and I follow, bemused. "Nice place," he comments. Then closes the door behind him. It makes me feel a little claustrophobic - trapped in a room with Draco Malfoy, him being perhaps more snarky than he was earlier. The same Draco Malfoy who seemed as though he would take advantage of a drunken girl if she asked him to kiss her. Not that I would.

"Thanks, I suppose." I laugh nervously and watch him glance around the room - from the ornate furnishings in place, to my out-of-place brightly patterned suitcase and pyjamas laying on the bed. An abandoned hanger on the wardrobe from which my dress was dragged earlier. Opened crisp packet lying on the desk from my earlier raging.

He looks at my pointedly; the dress! I turn around to allow him access to the clasp. He mumbles a few swear words in his confusion at the clasp and I blush furiously. A solitary finger drags wisps of hair from his path and catches on my skin. It feels as though we are both holding our breath again and the clasp is then undone. A short moment as he drags the zip down a couple of inches and steps back, breaking the silence with a cough.

"Done," he announces quietly. I turn around to face him, one hand clutching at the front of the dress to keep it from falling any amount.

"Thank you." We both pause and I realise my qualms from before. "Are you staying tonight?" Confusion. "Obviously not with me, but... Will I see you in the morning?"

"Yes," he smirks. "I keep telling you, Harry invited me. God, you never listen." He barks a short laugh and I find myself apologizing again. My head aches and so does the rest of my body. I know I can hardly be far away from falling asleep where I stand. "I'll see you in the morning. Ready with that hangover cure!" He winks at me and I am almost too tired to be baffled.

"This was fun," I profess as he turns to open the door. It clicks and we find ourselves at, again, that seemingly impassable moment. As if we're not entirely sure what will happen next and how any decisions might effects the way we can act. As if the remarks we have shared has changed things. Impossibly so.

"See you tomorrow."

He half-smiles and before I can stop myself, I push up onto my tiptoes and kiss him lightly on the cheek, hand barely brushing his shoulder.

"Goodnight." He nods at my response and exits, closing the door gently behind him. I bite my lip and wonder, what on earth was that. But quickly disregard it in place of getting ready to jump onto that extremely tempting bed standing a few feet away.

The dress falls quickly to the floor with a rustle and the pyjamas are on even faster, all the while thinking about the events of the day. Approaching the mansion in sunlight and feeling apprehensive upon meeting Natalie. Then the incredible food. And then Malfoy. Dancing with him and drinking with him, and then dancing in that free way with Harry and Ron - it being like old times.

It's hardly several minutes before I am tucked in bed, relishing in the comfort of it. And hardly several minutes after that, sleep consumes me.

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Finally managing to post this! Enjoy! :D**

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Hermione's hangover**

Oh. My. God. It hurts to think.

Those first thoughts penetrate deep into my aching - sorry, _howling_ \- mind. Like I've got not brain at all, but there is so much there to consider. There is so much mass... Mass of thought in this empty space, hulking it's load, crashing into the sides.

God, I feel sick.

Not that - as an academic - I have experienced a mass of hangovers over the years, but I have felt enough to know that this... _This._ This is not good. This is, in fact, the worst I have ever felt in my entire life. The racing images of the night before, the swirling, turning, churning... Oh god. Urgh.

 _Think, Hermione. Think._ Just not too much. No overthinking.

Okay. I think I should lay here, in the dark, away from everything and everyone for at least seventy-two hours. That sounds perfect. And with those somewhat relaxing thoughts, I turn away from the single strand of sunlight bursting from beneath the curtain and pull the heavy white duvet on top of me. Near-suffocating, but allowing a gap for cooler air.

To make certain of my renewed peace - when I say peace, I mean the ounce of piece in the ton of noise in my head - I pull the opposite pillow over my ears and close my eyes. It's somewhat better to think of one thing and concentrate. But then things veer and I feel very, very ill all over again.

Slow images of the night before represent themselves as if for approval. I remember dancing with the boys, and talking to Malfoy, and... Malfoy? _Draco Malfoy. Yeah, that's a weird thought to have._ But I know that he was there, and so it must have happened. That thought would not be there beside Ron and Harry otherwise.

Three sharp raps on the door bring me from my reverie and moment of quiet. _Who the hell is that._ And then... _Not now._

I don't even bother to think about moving; there's no chance. I simply refuse. Instead of opening the door like a good person might do, I lay in the bed, pretending to have imagined the three knocks - knocks which seem to be, irritatingly, occurring again. Every reverberating sound is like someone is knocking a nail into the side of my head.

Maybe I should be thinking about how to cure this hangover? _And to never drink again._ Pah. What rubbish.

"Hermione?" It's a he. I can tell that much. Other than that, I really do not care. In fact, I don't care anyway. All I have to do is ignore whoever it is and fall back into the pleasantness that was sleep... "Hermione, it's Malfoy." Bollocks. Unexpected, yet ridiculously predictable.

"Urghmmn..." I answer, only wishing him to leave me alone. And to remain in this bed, where light nor sound can hurt me. Where my stomach doesn't churn quite so much. Urg. Don't think about it. You'll make it worse. "Piss off."

God, this is horrible. The words barely sound at all.

"Are you going to let me in?" I don't respond, just revel in the silence after his words. The knocking he performed still echoes in my head, on replay, trying to force ill on me. Urgh. No thanks. "Alright, fine, I'm coming in then."

I barely have time to utter a resounding "no" before there is a click as the door is unlocked. My stomach is sinking as well as churning. Thanks Malfoy. How dare you interrupt my peace. Finally, another click of the handle and the slight creak as the door opens. I can't see him and I don't intend to.

"Leave me alone," I say through the thick sheets. I swear I hear him laughing and rebuff it instantly. How dare he.

"Come on, Granger, you need to get up." A no-nonsense statement. But one I refute. He sighs and I listen, past the blaring noises in my head. "I'm not here to take the piss, I am here to get you out of bed and down to see your friends to celebrate their wedding. You must move to be able to have the hangover cure I have supplied and we can move past this."

I consider him. Then groan. _Bloody Draco Malfoy. Talking ridiculous stupid things to get me to get up..._ But I know it's silly. Either way, I do need to see Harry and Ginny on the morning after their wedding.

It's as though I can feel him smirking as I lift the pillow from my head and push back the duvet. I squeeze my eyes shut to block out an inkling of the noise and the light and sit up, feeling dizzy. That abhorred duo of feeling both light and heavy headed all at once.

Malfoy is standing about two feet away from the side of the bed, looking only the way sodding Draco Malfoy can. Completely casual, and yet mastering the look with eloquence. A white cotton button down and hands tucked into pockets of his dark blue trousers. Blonde hair as though his fingers have dragged through it several times already. The annoyingly stylish cause of my feeling rotten.

"You look like shit." I glare at him, not even feeling the need to express with words. "Drink that," he intones, nodding to the glass positioned on my bedside table. Presumably one he brought with him. I scowl at the contents and then at him.

"That looks disgusting," I reply, having no intention of touching that, let alone drink it. He shrugs. "How did you get in?"

"Key." He pulls a slim silver key from his pocket.

"From who?"

"Front desk," he answers. "Your friends and I were of sound mind. Didn't want you wallowing in hangover-land."

"Who else is up?" I ask immediately, then feeling very dizzy afterwards as my head snaps up to his again. I clutch it feebly and wait for the room to stop spinning so I can focus on his answer.

"The newly weds, the twins, a few old people, and a couple of Potter's dad's friends - Lupin and the other man." I sigh in relief. Not Ron, _yet_. "So, we need to go and greet the party," Malfoy says slowly, as if waiting for it to really sink in. Like I am some kind of stupid person. Or foreign.

 _Probably seems that way. Me being so far below him._

Ah, bitter thoughts.

"But first you should drink that," he declares, quietly. I shake my head at him and bury myself in the duvet again, trying to get away from the ache and the spinning and the rising bile. I will not be sick. I will not be sick.

"This is all your fault, Malfoy," I reply, not even indicating that I heard what he said. I will not accept it.

"How do you figure that?"

"Because you're a sneaky and charming little bastard." My voice is muffled by the duvet. I don't think about what I am saying. As long as I am saying it to the duvet, and Malfoy happens to be listening, I can accept that.

"Right," he says slowly, as if assessing my utter insanity.

"That's probably how you got the key," I babble. "Had your way with the receptionist."

"Granger, I think she's about eighty years old," he exclaims, incredulous that I may suggest such a thing.

"Back to Granger, am I?"

"I'm going to forgive your bitterness because you look like shit."

"See, you're a charming bastard!" I raise my head again to meet his eyes and glare. I will not look at the vile yellow drink standing on the bedside. He will not win. Surely, he must know that? But, alas, he doesn't appear to be backing down. A single eyebrow is raised a smirk is residing below the exterior. I narrow my eyes ever so slightly.

"At least I'm charming, I could be a whole lot worse."

"You could," I admit. Then almost laugh. I really do feel like utter rubbish. My hair feels matted beyond recognition and I am not entirely sure whether I took off my makeup last night. An oops would certainly be in order. And it might explain Malfoy's perplexed expression. And the sudden moment of pause. Maybe I do look awful.

"Granger, just drink it. It will make you feel a million times better. Guaranteed." He folds his arms. Closed body language.

"No. I don't trust you." He rolls his eyes. Again, as if he is dealing with a child and I find myself glaring at him again. I don't take well to this sort of behaviour towards me.

"For God's sake, just drink it!" He half-shouts, resolve broken and glaring. Lacking the small friendliness in humour. "It will taste disgusting, but it works. This is a Malfoy speciality."

"I am not tasting anything that comes from you." I smirk at him this time, feeling as though I could gain power from being the one laughing at the other. The innuendo having come faster than my understanding of algebra. And that is saying something. Malfoy scowls at me but then laughs as I feel another wave of nausea crash over me.

"It's just a hangover cure." I glare at him. The three of him that stand before me in this state. My stomach churns again and I clutch the duvet for a little stability. A flash of concern dashes over his features and his whole body twitches toward me. He attempts a joke anyway. "Come on, Granger, you can try my _other_ speciality when I am not certain you won't throw up."

"That's disgusting," I murmur as bile rises up again and I gag. "I'm going to be sick."

"That's why I said later," Malfoy says quietly, the joke dying now. Then he steps closer and says, "Hermione, it will help."

I sigh heavily and look up at him, my head feeling heavier more than anything. I just want to go back to bed. Instead, I ask, "How bad is it? Be honest."

He laughs. "It's really disgusting. But it will make you feel better instantly. It's got proven hangover cures all in one."

"Including the weird ones? Like sweat and rhino horn dust and sheep eyeballs?" I ask, perhaps more tentatively. He shakes his head and again. Malfoy looks at me funny, curious as to what on earth is going on probably. Maybe wondering how I know of such things. Oh well, not that it matters. "Okay, fine. But get that bucket thing in case I throw up."

He raises an eyebrow but does it anyway. I sigh once again and fight against the need to rest and sleep and block out all of my senses. And fight against the banging around in my skull. Must be awake.

Malfoy sits down on the bed, causing it to bend to the added weight. I try to ignore him and instead watch the drink on the table, before picking it up. Don't sniff, I won't be able to drink it if it smells awful. Which it will. I am better that the yellow is egg, and there's probably a manner of disgusting things in there as well. Pickles, maybe.

Quietly, I sing, "Drink up, me hearties, yo ho," and down the entire thing.

Oh _lordy_. That is... I can't explain. It makes me cringe and shiver, but thankfully, it's worth it.

"Bleugh," I say, shuddering. But I instantly begin to feel better and the reality of the situation stumbles upon me.

Draco Malfoy, sitting on the bed in my room, giving me the drink to cure my hangover and smiling like some bloody idiot. And of course I have to wonder, _what the hell is going on._

"Yeah, I understand," he says, chuckling.

"Why are you here?" I ask, setting down the glass and shuffling backwards in the bed until I hit the hard backboard.

"Making sure you weren't throwing up in your sleep and killing yourself. Something honourable like that." He shrugs simply and crosses one leg over the other. A sign that he is probably lying. No worries, I can work around that.

"You were worrying? Caring?" I poke.

"You could say," he admits, nonchalantly. "But not in the prissy way you may insinuate."

"Too manly to care, right?" I joke and shift my feet beneath the duvet. He moves backwards to allow them more room; I watch him curiously for that. He can't _actually_ care.

"I prefer the word masculine." _Of course._

"Why are you here?" I ask again. Unsure of whether I should hope for a different result. I am almost certain that there should be some hidden meaning. Is there not always something else going on?

"You already asked that," he acknowledges. I nod in agreement.

"Yes, but you lied," I tell him immediately, watching his expression for a change. But there is nothing. Aside from the closed body language. And his obvious past of lies and being mean. And Draco Malfoy. _Draco Malfoy_. Draco Malfoy was a liar back then, so he could definitely lie to me now.

"No, I didn't," Malfoy parries, his eyebrow raised. As if really questioning my judgement. Pah. What a thought.

"No creepy personal gain here?"

"The fact that you have to ask greatly insults me, Granger." He chuckles a little darkly and I smile faintly back. Malfoy shakes his head slowly and drags a pale hand through his far whiter blonde hair. An old habit from throughout his high school life as I knew him. He smirks again, lost in a memory. "I knew what you'd be like. I remember Hannah Abbots eighteenth birthday party."

"I remember being amazed that you were invited," I recall, the corner of my lips twitching at the memory. My horror of him having turned up mirroring that of yesterday. And his harsh words beginning before someone pushed a drink in his hand and told him to be nice or he would be asked to leave. Not that those passing comments made any difference in the long run.

"Being a cool kid. Naturally," Draco muses. "Anyway, I remember you having drank a lot more than you were intending and being sick all over me. And then everyone waking up the next morning and you especially not being able to move very far at all. And threw up over Weasley."

"Oh gosh, no! I remember that!" Suddenly I feel a little mortified. I maybe had forgotten all about that in the past years - the pain I caused Ron even before our relationship. How he was a social pariah before and got even worse when it came to dating me. That must have been an embarrassing moment for him as well. I am not even sure we were dating at that point. Were we?

"It was my favourite part," remarks Malfoy.

How the hell do you remember that?" I ask in slight amazement. Having barely remembered that monumental night myself, it's somewhat surprising that Malfoy - blonde extraordinaire and haughty to the point of not-caring-at-all - remembers even an inkling of it.

"I am fairly observant, thank you very much." His voice is perhaps a little clipped. Back to the reason for the lie?

"But that was so long ago," I reason.

"A memorable night, nonetheless. And, today, I knew you would be somewhat the same or worse. Based on that experience imprinted on my memory." I nod, unsure of what to say. He makes to get up from the bed, hands placed gingerly on thighs. "We should go." I almost want to ask why and want to stay here with him. But I know I can't be thinking that, now that my mind is far clearer than it was. "Don't worry everyone looks as awful as you do. And watching Potter and Weasley's sister is sickening enough. Love. Bleugh."

I grimace at him past the laughter. "That bad?"

He nods and shudders. "Have a quick shower and get dressed. You'll look fine." Malfoy really does stand up. But when I make no move to get out of bed, he pauses and watches me in anticipation. A slight crease between his brows. But I'm not sure I want to move and make myself look fine. "Come on, let's get you dressed and we can get out of here and have some fresh air."

" _Get me dressed_? No way, stay away from me," I laugh, pondering at his strange choice of words. He rolls his eyes ever so slightly, as if feeling maybe a little bit... Unfavourable to his language choice. I move the conversation away. "No way with you in here."

"Well that's understandable and easy to solve." A pragmatic response. For once, I feel glad. "I can either wait outside or you can change in the bathroom. I'm not leaving entirely because I will not have you throwing up and missing the wedding breakfast."

"Shit. Fair enough."

"Yes, exactly. Now hurry up. Do you want anymore of my delectable hangover cure?" He asks, with maybe too much of a mischievous gleam in his eye for my liking. Draco Malfoy, what is going on.

"Know what, I think I'll be fine." I could at least pretend that I enjoyed it. But it did make me feel better. So kudos in that respect. He laughs and moves towards the seat on the left hand side of the door, arms placed on the rests. Waiting. But I don't want him to be watching me. I'm wearing pyjamas. Is this awkward yet?

 _You know it is_

I hurry from the bed as fast as I can and close the bathroom door behind me.

As they do in the morning hours, strange thoughts run through my mind as I go through the process. Clean my teeth - I wonder what there is for breakfast. Brush out my hair - What does Malfoy have for breakfast. Take off pyjamas - is this weird. Get into the shower - this is definitely weird. Get out of shower - is Malfoy thinking about me in the shower. Dry myself - is it weird that I am thinking about Malfoy thinking about me in the shower.

This is ridiculous. Obviously it's weird. It's weird and strange and I am not sure what to make of this.

The shower has made better work of my face than sleep could have. I now look fresh and rested, rather than sleep-deprived and sickly. Always a pleasant sign. I wrap the towel around my body tighter and secure the one on my head.

Hand rested on the door, I remember... _Malfoy._ Malfoy is out there. I cannot go out there like this. Not now. Not ever. Not in front of Draco bloody Malfoy.

"Shut your eyes," I shout through the door.

"Why, what have you done?" he answers back immediately.

"I forgot clothes." I can practically feel him laughing, his mirth reverberating around the small room and through the door to me. Where I am standing, feeling like a complete idiot, and utterly not needing his piss-taking. "Shut up and close your eyes until I say open."

"This sounds like a trap, but okay," he replies. I wait a few moments, uncertain whether he would actually agree to something which put him at a total disadvantage. "My eyes are closed. You can come out. I won't look." Again, I pause. But I have to, there's nothing else to do.

The door opens easily with a click and I rush to the wardrobe in which my clothes are set. Underwear, a skirt and a spotted top. Sorted. Good good. My feet pad against the thick carpet and the door shuts behind me. I can breathe. I can breathe. I can breathe. Heart, stop hammering. Thank god I didn't look at him. I might have picked up something slightly more reserved. Like a pair of jeans, long-sleeved shirt and thick coat or cardigan. Something which leaves everything to the imagination.

 _God, what a thought._

"You're safe," I call through the door, shimmying into my clothes.

"I don't like closing my eyes."

"Me neither," I reply. "Makes you feel vulnerable."

Clean teeth again, brush hair again. I don't need to dry it. Instead, I push it back into a messy bun and exit the bathroom, knowing I can't possibly spend another moment in anticipation. _What will people think?_ Even though there is nothing for anyone to think on.

"How's this?" I ask, the door opened and presenting myself with jazz-hands.

"Beautiful." He says the words without pause. It makes me falter. For one tiny second. "Now let's go," places his hands on his thighs and stands up, turning for the door.

"Beautiful?" I murmur, turning to reach for my shoes by the suitcase at the wardrobe. Taking a moment or several to think on the word. _Beautiful._ How silly a thought. How very plain I am. The shoes allow me to have this moment or several to ponder what on earth he could have meant. But then how do I know he meant anything at all? I don't. Not clue. Classic. Reading into every thing he might say as some hidden meaning.

"Let's forget I said it and get out of here," comes Draco's voice from a million miles away. "We look suspicious."

"Did you mean it?" Before I can even stop myself. Curse my enquiring mind.

"Of course I meant it. Now, stop fishing and put those damn shoes on." He speaks quickly again, but there is the more familiar - however weird familiarity is with Draco Malfoy - joke in his tone. The inflection in the 'damn'. The quirk of a smile.

"Then why should I forget it," I utter, mostly to myself more than anything. Thinking out loud. If Draco even hears my sentiment, he makes no comment about it and waits while I lace up my trainers and don't look at him. _No one has called me beautiful before._ Oh how sad, Hermione Granger.

 _Bitter tone detected._

"You're joking, right?" I look up at him in surprise. Did I say something I hadn't meant to? "Not even Weasel?" _Still not getting it, Malfoy..._ "Not one person ever? No one? Called Hermione Granger beautiful?"

"Shit, did I say that out loud?" He nods and laughs at me. The first response my brain has is hurt. Somewhere in my stomach, sinking down to my toes and causing a slight sting in my eyes. "I don't know why you're laughing. It's not funny. You called me ugly constantly as a teen."

And he doesn't even say a bloody word. Just watches me like he gets off on some pain issued. So all I can do is hurriedly tie my shoes and reach past him to the door handle. But of course he's standing in the bloody-shitting way. Tall and lean, a muscle machine. Malfoy: mastermind of room thirteen. _Fucking move you arse._

"Granger, just stop for a moment."

"Jesus! Just let me out!" I cry in desperation, more frustrated than upset but certain I could veer either way.

"Please! Just listen!" he implores, standing right over the door handle and moving as if to take hold of me. I flinch away from him. "Fuck," he says, wiping a hand over his face. "I thought we had already established that I was an arse when I was younger. Just because I had certain opinions then does not mean that I have the same ones now." He pauses, collecting himself while I listen. Waiting for him to mess up. "I may have called you ugly, but again that was spite. Granger, you have always been exceptionally intelligent and as pretty as any girl at Hogwarts. Do not let my past words and the lack of words of that ginger idiot dictate what you think about yourself."

The silence that follows is absolute.

Malfoy has his eyes shut, head pressed against the back of the door. As if waiting for some sort of punishment to follow. For me to demand more of him. For me to tear him apart for some word he said wrongly, or an intonation that was incorrect in some pseudo-maniacal way.

"Are you done?" I ask, quietly. He swallows.

"I just think you deserve someone who calls you beautiful." My brown eyes meet his grey ones and I nod almost imperceptibly. I am not entirely sure how to end this moment of quiet, but thank the lord that Malfoy does. "Now let's move before we miss the breakfast. I am certain there is a pile of bacon with my name on it."

I huff in slight laughter.

We escape the room and begin trudging down the corridors, side by side.

"Do you feel better?" he asks. I smirk at him.

"Yes, thanks to you. Guess it's all balanced out," I answer with a light-hearted tone.

"Since I apparently caused you such pain by being a charming bastard?" One eyebrow raised. Back to normal. Thank God.

"Exactly!" I laugh and we begin the descent down the stairs to the horrors of breakfast.

Malfoy and I chat amicably as we move down the stairs, which seem to take much less time than they did the evening before. I find myself almost resenting this, but I am so very glad that I am able to walk them with a little more grace than before. Without uttering innuendos and stumbling at every step. This is definitely a better state to be in.

Thanks to Blondie.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! I am two days overdue for an update on this! However, it's here! I'm trying to keep writing, but so far I've only written eleven chapters. Which definitely means a good chunk of writing left for y'all to read, but I am going to try and get more done in between the Houses Competition and holidays for College. Thanks muchly for the patience everyone :)**

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Breakfast with the Potters**

"Do I still look hungover?" I ask Draco Malfoy for what must seem like the thousandth time. I know this - well, assume - because he rolls his eyes yet again and tells me that no, I do not. I half refuse to accept this, though. Who knows why.

"Hermione, even I am a little hungover. And it's no secret that the Weasley's like to party. Guaranteed. Everyone is." Malfoy pushes open the door to another corridor, which will lead us to the dining hall. Not the same one used as yesterday - more of a permanent eating area than that. At his words, though, I end up watching him. For the reason of his supposed hangover.

He doesn't look exhausted in the general sense. There are no dark circles beneath slightly red-rimmed eyes - which were mine this very morning, and I had to conceal with well-placed make-up. Not a single trace of pending or past sickness. Only the faint mental tiredness about him that resides in the untidy hair and slight frustration in the clenching of palms every so often.

I have to wonder what's going on - whether something happened that has put him off his usual stride. Not that I know him at all. It could be the fact that he's not had anything alcoholic to drink and that he's not going to be the same as he was yesterday - somewhat charming.

And then I wonder whether I am prepared to meet everyone this breakfast. Whether I am ready to indulge in the throes of family life surrounding my very single one. Around the married couples, the large families, the people who brought fiancés and boyfriends or girlfriends. Not that I don't love all the family that comes with the Weasley's and all of their friends.

But it's difficult to be a single person at a wedding.

Malfoy and I reach the final door. And my footsteps falter. However, he ploughs on, pushing the door open and allowing me to step past before him. Draco Malfoy doesn't stare at my with pity or question in his eyes. He just waits for me to walk through.

There are a few people already sitting at the tables. I make a beeline for Harry and Ginny, thinking to congratulate them on their nuptials. I don't look back at Draco, feeling him follow me and not wanting to draw attention to the fact that we entered together. To be honest, Harry and Ginny really do not look like they're up to suspecting anything suspicious at all.

Of course, Malfoy puts it best.

"You look like shit, Potter," he says in his unwavering, frank tone.

"Thanks," Harry half groans. He gestures to the seats nearest to him so we can chat a while, presumably. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same to you." Harry watches the pair of us for a moment, eyes flicking between mine and Malfoy's - who sits to my right, Harry on my left. Ginny is engaged in conversation with another woman - one I don't recognise - and finally turns to us. "Amazingly, Hermione you do not look awful."

"Draco gave me something for the hangover," I say nonchalantly.

Harry chokes on his orange juice and Ginny's eyes widen.

"Jesus, not like that," I admonish. "Made me a hangover cure."

"Malfoy speciality," Draco mutters, sporting a smirk. I glare at him. To no avail. He simply raises an eyebrow. Harry looks a little flustered still and suggests we get some breakfast and come back to talk. I glance at Draco, who nods imperceptibly and we stand together, walking towards the table holding the food. A few people already stand around the presentation of sustenance, mooching around, not really taking anything in. I spot one of my old school friends approaching the pastry section, then deciding to get just juice instead. Draco laughs quietly, but I say nothing. Not quite at that stage yet.

Of course, the buffet is enormous. A smorgasbord of all breakfast wants and desires, as is befitting to such a place of marriage reception. Men and women in black and white serve hot food to anyone who wants it - which is not many people. Obviously, they haven't read about the best hangover cures and opt for the far more simple approach of 'eat to sustain, not to be full'. A precautionary measure, I'm guessing.

To be candid, I have never been a great lover of the Full-English breakfast, and instead go for some scrambled eggs - a long-love of mine since my mum made it when I was sick from nursery at the age of three - and accompany it with mango and yoghurt. Yes, it does sound like a strange combination. Alas, it is a combination of things which I like. Draco just snorts in amusement and grabs bacon, a croissant and some fresh fruit. It's not as though his breakfast is any less strange, in my opinion.

Nothing else takes my fancy in terms of food, so we go to the drinks section. Filled with juices and a huge variety of teas, plus the staple morning drink: coffee. I feel like being a little healthier this morning - with my mango and plain yoghurt - and feel glad Malfoy is trying to outdo me today.

It's at this point in which Ron enters the room.

I guess that I only really notice because of the boisterous shout that emits from Harry to his best man, supposedly in jubilation. I turn to the sight and see that Harry has instantly regretted the loud shout, as can be seen by his hand rising to his head, pushing away of his plate and Ginny clutching his am, in fear of either one of them throwing up. Altogether would have been a humorous sight, if Ron wasn't looking so sour.

Ron slaps Harry's weak and outstretched hand in greeting, before slumping into the chair I previously occupied. Natalie enters the room seconds after, and slides into the chair beside her beau. Neither of them speak a word. In fact, she turns away from him slightly and stares a tad vaguely at the green wallpaper covering the back wall. Ron glances at her, but then back at Harry.

"Juice?" asks Malfoy, bringing my attention back to him, thankfully. One eyebrow slightly raised, as if he knows what's going through my head. And he won't mock me, except with that one look. Great. Just great.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry. Thanks," I mumble, shuffling closer and allowing Malfoy to fill me a small glass of apple juice. He does the same with his own, grabs a few napkins and wanders back to the table, not saying anything, but acting as a buffer for anything that might come this way. This time, I take a seat beside Ginny and Draco sits next to me. To try to avoid Ron? Absolutely. He looks hungover and pissed off. I know what follows such events.

Lots of eating. Lots of moaning. Sometimes verbal attacks. Looking forward to that. Sarcasm? Yes.

"Morning Ron...?" ventures Ginny, uncertain. He grimaces. Beside me, Malfoy begins to cut up his bacon, perhaps feeling slightly safer now that conversation has been given the greenlight. Harry turns to us for a second, nervousness exuding. "Natalie," Ginny says, as an addition. Natalie smiles pleasantly at Ginny before turning back to the wall and announcing,

"I'm going to get some food." She then stands up, pushing back her chair quickly and not looking at anyone else. Only muttering the words, "super hungry." Leaving the rest - except Ron - in a slightly stunned silence.

Ginny slaps Ron's head with a menu from across the table.

"Oi!" he exclaims, rubbing his head in pain and annoyance. Ginny simply glares at him, demanding an explanation for what just happened. I begin to rummage my fork through my scrambled egg, pondering, then take a gulp of apple juice. It's sweet, and nice, but Ron has left sourness. "What is your problem?"

"Don't talk to her like that, mate," Harry tells Ron quietly, and receives a famous glare from the ginger man beside him. "Gotta defend my wife," he says proudly, despite the slight awkwardness of the moment between the two friends. Ginny smiles genuinely at Harry and I am left poking my eggs again, wondering nothing about what the heck Ron said to Natalie.

Which, of course, is a complete lie. I genuinely do not care.

"What did you do to her?" Ginny asks, breaking the very slight uncomfortable silence. Ron turns to glare at her instantly, but Ginny - being the fiery red-head - does not back down. Instead, asserts her question. "I thought you liked her." And she shrugs appropriately; nonchalantly. Like it's not that big a deal anyway. Which of course will set Ron off, having the need to 'macho himself up'.

"I do like her!" he exclaims, voice slightly more hysterical than usual. "I didn't do anything!" At this, I hear the very controlled snort from a Mr Draco Malfoy, quickly covered up by a cough so perfect that I almost laugh myself. Unfortunately, Ron is not on the side of humour this morning, and demands, "problem, Malfoy?"

Love it when people get along. But, instead of being bitter and laughing at Ron's near-childish behaviour, I feel that I conduct myself in a calm and collected way, while internally hating him. Malfoy simply eats his bacon and turns to the rest of his food, clearly completely unperturbed by Ron's demanding outburst. He probably deals with awful clients all the time, and finds it much easier to brush off.

"Ron, cut it out," I say determinedly. Not bothering to glance back at poor Natalie, who is none the wiser about her boyfriend's antics at the table. And now he's glaring at me, and it kind of makes me want to chop off that silly fringe he's grown over the last two months. It looks ridiculous. And he honestly looks like a creepy murderer glaring at me through it. Not a good look.

"Shut up," he retaliates.

"Stop it, Ron," intervenes Harry, his head resting gingerly on his palm. Looking utterly beyond exhausted. I am beginning to get that way, but an extremely thankful for Malfoy's concoction. Otherwise I wouldn't have been able to get out of bed. At all. Maybe that's why Ron is being this way? He's hungover?

"Sorry," mutters Ron, a little bitterly. "I'm tired." That explains it. Gee, Ron, I wonder... Do you think we're all tired too? "Anyway, what the hell is Malfoy doing here?" And I am immediately aware that his question is a challenge. Maybe that's why Malfoy bothered me so much - because I annoyed him by asking why he was there? He didn't seem that bothered, but you never know!

"I was invited," Draco tells Ron, not looking up, acting calm. Calm is good. We need calm.

"By me," Harry interjects, before Ron can retort anything nasty about Draco and his presence in company. I glace sideways at Draco and see his tight-lipped smile, but not all that bitterly. That's positive. He reaches for his glass, shuffles in his seat, and finger brushes lightly against my leg. I move away from him slightly, preventing any further contact. But Draco doesn't even bat an eyelid.

"I just meant... Oh, never mind." Ron bites the inside of his cheek and, like a child, casts his eyes around for Natalie, pouting. Oh crap. Ron turns back to the table - his attention, I mean - meaning he has certainly decided he no longer cares. He's just going to let the words slip anyway. "How come?"

"Ask Potter," Malfoy says, taking a bit of bacon. I smile at him and take a sip of juice.

"We went to school together. Got to know each other a bit after," Harry explains, looking sideways at Malfoy for a second or two. I raise an eyebrow but neither man notices anyone else's confusion. I have the feeling that there are a bunch of untold stories there. Ginny looks apologetically at me. Clearly she knew. I smile back at her anyway, I'm not mad. "Wouldn't have felt right any other way," Harry finishes.

"Touching," Malfoy remarks, smirking. Harry is grinning until he catches Ron's near-thunderous expression, and I am trying desperately to be silent and not mention anything about last night, or anything about the matter at all.

"That's it?" asks Ron, to the silence of the table. "He was awful to everyone. Especially Hermione, our best mate."

Then I just can't stop myself anymore.

"He's changed." The words slip out easily, not at all a lie. Of course, Ron seems to think it is such, and glares at me. I take another sip of my juice and stare down at the empty plate before me. I'm suddenly hungry and anxious all at once. Malfoy isn't looking at me. Maybe he doesn't know whether to or not, but he's certainly playing with his bacon. Embarrassed? Perhaps about me marring his cool, badass image. Idiot.

"How do you know that?" Ron asks in his accusing tone. The one I know so goddamn well.

A titter of voices runs down from us as the door opens, a waiter coming in with another tray of steaming scrambled egg. Yeah, that smells amazing. Urgh.

"I spent the evening with him," I mention nonchalantly, and quietly - completely aware of how that might sound to everyone. Looks like Ron is definitely thinking of it in that manner. "Not like that, Ronald."

He's silent.

"Cat got your tongue, Weasley?" Draco asks, smiling pleasantly. I almost laugh.

Ron begins to shake his head and say something, but at this exact moment, Natalie comes back to the table, her plate brimming with eggs and toast and tomatoes and a number of fairly healthy looking things. Interrupting the little moment or whatever the heck is going on here. Thank God for that. She politely asks Ginny how she is, taking a seat and setting out her knife and fork onto the plate.

Screech of Ron's chair interrupts conversation completely. It scratches against the delicate flooring, making a most awful noise, and he storms away to get his own food, throwing a napkin onto his chair. I frown and glance at Harry, who gives me that look I'm so used to: 'I've got this'. And I know that he has. Harry stands and wanders over to Ron, picking a small bread roll on his at.

My two oldest friends converse quietly, not a word heard by any of us. Not that anyone but me is paying huge amounts of attention. Natalie and Ginny are talking, and Draco is happily eating away at his crispy bacon. Which is smelling better as the minutes pass. I turn to face him completely, ignoring the growling stomach and the delicious scent reaching me.

"This is super fun, right?" I ask with that cheerful intonation that suggests heavy sarcasm. He winks.

"I'm enjoying myself," he smirks, then raises his eyes slightly as Ron and Harry sit down at the table again, Ron looking slightly less red-faced. "I never got to ask, what do you do for a living?" I hear Ron's derisive smirk in the background and then the crunching loudly as he munches savagely on a piece of crispy bacon.

"Don't ask, you'll get bored," he mutters. I roll my eyes, not in the mood to even begin to feel upset about Ron's small jibes about my job. I know it's not boring. I don't particularly care what Ron thinks. Malfoy, however, has been nice to me. I care that he thinks I'm not boring. I don't think he just wants to get into my pants. He must have some semblance of interest in me - in terms of not being a boring person, of course.

"That's for me to decide," Draco says, a half-smile on his face. Being polite, but firm. Good. A good way to handle it.

"Ferret," Ron mumbles, not looking up this time. I glare at him for a second, before turning to Malfoy.

"I'm a teacher," I tell him. He begins to ask. The most frequently asked question. "English teacher. High school level." He smiles. "And I review texts people submit to publishing companies, in my free time - not that I have a lot of that. It's very interesting." I barely take a moment to glance at Ron again. I know his opinions on my job, and the lack of free time I had for him. He looks pleasantly sour.

"Do you enjoy your job?" Malfoy asks, acting overly interested. I'm sure he's playing it up.

"Very much so. And you, yours?"

"It's tough, but I like it. Lots to think about." He smiles again. And it really is brilliant. A smirk of a smile this time. Not one of those genuine ones that very few people see - like last night, when he was talking about his travels, sustained by beer - but a fabulously flirty one. It's a wonderful moment of pause, until Ron snorts again. Very unattractively. We both turn to look at him, he's about to say something before...

"Did you have fun last night, Natalie?" Ginny strikes up conversation with Ron's suddenly-quiet girlfriend. Ron hardly turns to his girlfriend, though she appears to be struggling somewhat, smiling a little awkwardly. I sort of feel bad for her, for a moment.

"It was lovely thank you," Natalie begins. In this instance, feeling safe, Draco turns back to me.

"So, what sort of things do you end up reading?" He picks at a piece of bread he pulls from the table piece, pulling it apart in his hands. I watch for a moment, before realising the question. Reading. Yes. I read, don't I? Yes.

"Lots of different things, really -"

"Yeah, we were screaming at the fun of it, eh Nat?" Ron remarks, smirking. Meanwhile Natalie blushes ferociously and looks down at her plate of food, half of it gone in the nervous eating anyway. God, I remember Ron being a twat like this. I see Harry and Ginny share vaguely amused and surprised looks. Draco doesn't appear fazed in the slightest, actually raises his eyebrows instead.

"Good for you, Ronald," he drawls. "Must have gone well, considering your girlfriend doesn't want to look at you this morning." Malfoy bites off a piece of bread, and Ron begins to stand up - however, Harry sets a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down again. Despite the comment being petty, it was also funny. So I'm going to let Draco off for that one; and yes, partly because of Ron's behaviour this morning. It's probably more than acceptable to Malfoy to retort in such a way, given Ron being so prattish.

In order to move away from the matter, I start back the conversation from before. The one about my reading. The topic that is supposed to be safe and easy to talk about. People can talk about books. Books are a safe topic. So I turn to Draco, drawing his attention back to me and away from the glaring red-head.

"At the moment, I'm reading about the theory of development in human nature in this last century. In the past I've read other theoretical novels, as well as much fiction - nothing too racy though," I smirk. And I'm suddenly very aware of the words I'm saying, the implications of racy reading material. "It tends to be mature or teen fiction."

"That sounds really interesting," Draco begins. But of course is immediately cut off.

"Don't think she's ever read anything that would explain you, ferret," Ron mutters darkly. _Not that you'd even know what I've read, Ronald._ Malfoy glances at me for a moment, considering something. Then he turns back to Ron, a very slight coldness in his voice this time. I don't know what set it off, but clearly something that didn't sit right. For some unknown reason to my horribly sober mind.

"I don't need explaining. Get educated."

"We went to the same bloody school -" Ron starts, grinding his teeth.

"Okay boys, that is enough," Ginny says, loudly enough to have half of us wincing. Including herself. "It is the morning after my wedding. I am tired, hungover, and happy. So let's quit it before this gets out of hand and I am forced to escape my happy place, to deal with you." She holds up her hands, as a way of dealing with the silent growls and protests from both men. Ron speaks first.

"Fine," he grunts.

"Yeah, cool," Draco says, smiling. Ginny smiles back pleasantly, glares at her brother, and stares at her half-full plate. As if sizing up whether she thinks she can stomach much more of it, especially after her short little rant. Those can be exhausting.

I pick up my glass and see there's nothing inside. Damn. So thirsty.

"Here, I'll get you some. What was it?" Draco asks from beside me. I can't help but stare at him. "What?" he demands. I raise my eyebrows and glance at his hands, one carrying my cup, another carrying his. "I'm going anyway. Fine, silence. I'll get apple juice." It's difficult to refrain from staring after him. After glancing back at Harry and Ginny, they carry the same wondering expression.

Ron is staring into the distance, not taking notice. Or trying not to.

"You know," begins Ginny slyly, "He might be good for you." I half choke on my remaining scrambled eggs at her words.

"What do you mean?" I ask through my coughing. Damn, still no apple juice. Harry grins at me, clearly mocking me for my choking at exactly the wrong time in conversation. His eyes wander briefly to where Draco is, filling up the tall glasses with apple juice. Lavender Brown approaches him, much to his chagrin, and he turns round to glare playfully at me. "If anything, Malfoy and I are friends," I find myself saying, after an infinity.

"Just saying," Ginny sings, sipping at her coffee, as Malfoy walks back over, carrying the glasses, looking completely suave, but rolling his eyes at Lavender's antics nonetheless. I laugh internally, and externally portray just a smile.

"So you've noticed how much Lavender has changed?" he jokes, sitting down next to me. I nod sarcastically. "Yeah, me too. Not at all!" Harry barks a short laugh, Ron snorts and Ginny stifles a snigger. "Although, it feels like romance has made her _doubly annoying_." I grin at him, remembering my brief and awful chat with her yesterday.

"I suffered the same yesterday," I tell him.

"And me," Natalie interjects from across the table. I smile pleasantly at her for a moment. Thinking about really how much I can trust her. And how much I believe Ron will have picked someone slightly humorous. Give it a shot.

"Funnier when you think that Ronald used to date her," I muse to her, a grin spreading over both of our features. Ron turns beet-red in embarrassment, which causes Natalie to giggle and touch his arm playfully. A tacky move, but I'm having fun.

"Fascinating," Natalie laughs.

"What's more fascinating was her nickname for him," Harry muses too, playing with the beans on his plate in amusement. Before Ron can shout anymore than 'Harry, no!', Harry is telling Natalie and the rest of our table Lavender's nickname for him: Won-Won. Leaving the table, including Draco, in fits of laughter. At the embarrassment of the necklace Lavender had given him, and when she had breathed a love-heart onto the train going towards Hogwarts one certain year.

Harry doesn't mention what broke up their relationship. Me, that would be. Ron wanting me, after his drink was spiked. And not Lavender. Thankfully, no one else decides to mention that darling little fact either. Phew.

We continue this pleasant turn of conversation for a while, as the family begins to peter downstairs and join the table. Laughing, joking and having fun. Until talk turns to Draco again, and I find myself cringing for him. Thankfully the interrogation doesn't last too long.

"How did you reconnect with Harry?" Molly asks, tucking into her eggs with a polite smile on her face. Malfoy glances at Harry, like there is an untold story there, before ploughing ahead with whatever he can come up with. I'm not sure if I feel like he would lie or not. I just about notice the nod Harry gives.

"I gave a presentation for Harry's department, and we had a chat afterwards." Malfoy pauses. "Had a few drinks, caught up." Ron is glaring a little at Malfoy again, but looks halfway between being mad at Harry and grumpy with Draco. "Then he invited me to his wedding."

"Just because I'm nice, not because we're friends or anything," Harry interjects, with a laugh. Oddly enough, Malfoy joins in and raises a single eyebrow at my bespectacled friend. As if this is another inside joke they share. Now, Ron isn't hiding his disbelief, but has actually put down his knife and fork. I swear, I almost laugh at how utterly ridiculous he looks. Better not, though.

"What was the presentation?" This time it is Percy, hurriedly hunting information.

"Urm..." Harry begins, trying to think, which causes Malfoy another barking eruption of laughter. How odd.

"It was far too trivial for the great Potter to remember," Malfoy drawls, smirking.

"I know! It was on managing and financing more effectively!" Harry shouts suddenly, almost getting to his feet in the jubilation of knowing such a thing. I'm shocked for two reasons, though those exact reasons I know should also be irrelevant: Draco Malfoy doing a smart presentation - a relevant one, to the government - and Harry having this odd bond with him. It's almost too much to handle. For a moment, I might even look like Ron. So I quickly change my face to a smile, rather than that of a gawking gibbon stuck watching something amusing on a television.

"What is it you do for a living, Malfoy?" Arthur asks.

"I help run my father's business," Malfoy says, with half a smile. Like an admission rather than any sort of job description. There's a long moment of pause, waiting for him to explain. "It's like an investment company. So, we do housing, a bit of trade, development, and some insurance. We invest in people, corporations, and ideas." Everyone around the table nods, whether politely or enthusiastically, showing they understand.

"I think it sounds fascinating," I remark.

"It's nothing special," says Draco, quietly.

"Are you going to bang Hermione?" Ron suddenly asks from across the table, cutting into the brief quietness with the crass words. I feel my entire face light up like a torch - not because of Draco, but because of Ron, his words, and the sheer embarrassment. It's not like I would consider the potential of being... 'Banged' by Draco Malfoy. Though the idea is not entirely displeasing to consider.

"Not right now," Malfoy replies, smiling politely. I am thankful Bill is not here right now, to get on at Malfoy for suggesting that. But George chuckles quietly a few seats away. I catch his eye, and he continues his mirth in total silence, unable to look at his twin for laughing. Ron looks confused and put out.

"How are your parents doing, Malfoy?" Molly asks, scooping more egg onto her spoon and not even looking at her youngest son, but ignoring his glares completely. Smart move, Mrs Weasley.

"They are well thank you," Malfoy answers, sipping his drink. "My father recently got out of hospital so he's better, and my mother keeps fairly active with a few of her friends. Keeps her going." He smiles at Molly a little sadly. Is it odd that he doesn't talk about his parents with any feeling? Just whether they are ill or well? Not that they are wonderful and lovely and that stuff? I don't know.

"How come your dad was in hospital?" Fred asks, frowning a little. He glances at his own father, but no one else notices.

"For being Satan," Ron mutters.

"Ronald!" Molly splutters suddenly. "Do not be so rude and unkind. Ever! Especially not in front of me and all these other lovely people! And Fred!" Fred visibly retreats into his chair, looking sideways at George for help. "Don't ask such personal questions."

"Sorry," Fred says to Malfoy, not looking into his eyes for more than a millisecond. I almost laugh.

"S'alright. It was his liver. Too much wine through the years," Malfoy laughs shortly and a few others chuckle alongside him. I'm not entirely sure whether his laughter is yet another façade though. Some people laugh to cover up awkwardness, or things they just don't want to talk about. Somehow, I think Malfoy is maybe a little more insecure than he was during his teenage years. And has become a little more wary - especially around these people; the Weasley family.

The boys begin to talk about the football season, as a way to get away from the horrible awkward moments between Malfoy and Ron. It's not long before Malfoy interjects his views, which are readily accepted without hardly anyone noticing. Grudgingly, I think they all start to get used to him being a little more normal than Supremist. Harry chats amiably with him too, which makes everyone much happier about talking to Draco, and spending a little of their time with him.

"Now how about a post-marital walk before a clean-up!" Ginny announces.

It sounds like a question, but we know it isn't.

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	8. Chapter 8

**Hey! So... I know this chapter is super duper late. However, I have been pretty focused on writing for the Houses Competition (as evidenced by the crazy amount of new material on my page). But I have up to chapter 11, and once the comp is over (in just about a week and a half) I'll be back to writing this, and crossing off other planned chapters from my life. For now, enjoy!**

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 **A Morning Walk**

The air is significantly colder than it was yesterday morning, even with my jacket wrapped tightly around myself. Malfoy is several steps ahead of me, his hands deep in his pockets, with Natalie and Ron hand in hand ahead of him, and then Ginny and Harry even further away. Mr and Mrs Weasley set off before us, and I can just about make out their small figures a couple hundred metres away. Thank God they're not slowing down just yet, even in their growing age.

Sometimes it's like I will slow down before Mrs Weasley.

Fred and George are chatting animatedly behind me, possibly something to do with their shop. I don't pay massive amounts of attention, and just embrace the salty sea air, and the bite of the wind. Yep, it is definitely colder.

The twins race from behind me to catch up to Harry, to question him on whatever it was they were discussing. Maybe some new sweets they're uncertain of, or general profit advice. Who knows. Harry was supposedly the fund for their shop, so it makes sense for them to want to run ideas past him - it's not necessarily something to do every time they have a new idea. They have a lot of new ideas.

"What's that all about?" asks Malfoy, turning around to walk backwards for a moment, before falling instep with me. I shrug slightly and turn to walk backward a few paces, enjoying the breeze surrounding me. "You don't know?"

"Not exactly," I tell him with a smile. "Something to do with the joke shop, I'm guessing." I turn around again so I am facing forward. Malfoy is watching me. I feel it, that tingling sensation one gets when being stared at, but it's not so unnerving as it usually is. He smiles slightly, and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, shuddering very slightly. I raise an eyebrow at him, feeling disinclined to talk right now. Too cold, and too tired. But he is equally good silent company.

"Tell me about yourself, Granger," he requests suddenly, before blowing on his hands and kicking up a mound of sand with his boots. I notice that they're worn on the toes, but don't mention anything.

"Malfoy, we've known each other for almost fifteen years," I say in mocking exasperation, smirking at him slightly. But still totally confused by his want to know me, all of a sudden - or so it seems.

"Don't play that card, Granger. We barely knew each other at school, and I know even less now," he replies instantly, staring straight ahead. Wanting me to not see any part of the joking in his eyes. But I do see it, past the hardness of his expression. It's this one bit in his eyes. I don't know whether it was ever there before, but it certainly is now. I absolutely refuse to call it a twinkle - although I am supposed to be an English teacher - but I guess it wouldn't be dissimilar from that.

"You knew enough to torment me," I remark, gesturing with my hands broadly (and vaguely).

"I already apologised," he sighs, looking cheerily disappointed in me.

"I know, I know," I laugh.

I kick at the sand too, liking the way it spits up into the air and churns in the very slight breeze surrounding us now. Harry and Ginny are still hand in hand, but with the addition of Fred and George. Ron and Natalie between them and Mr and Mrs Weasley, Ron now with his arm around Natalie. I don't scowl, though, as I might have done before. That's okay. It's all okay. Weirdly, I am finding some strange comfort in talking to Malfoy. I really don't know what it is. Maybe it's the whole lack of appreciation of even those who torment. I don't know. One of those things. He's not being horrible, so there's that.

"So tell me about you now," Malfoy interjects my thoughts. "We can pretend we just met, or something. Clean slate?" He looks sideways at me, hands still deep inside his pockets. I laugh shortly.

"No way do you get a clean slate!" I expel as a laugh. Malfoy frowns very slightly, but before he can get all moody, I say "Maybe a cleaner one than before. But you can't have a totally clean one. Why are you so curious to know me, anyway? We'll leave this thing together and not meet up ever again, probably," I comment, hardly looking at him, but keeping on walking, and only glancing at the rock ahead every so often.

"Hey, don't knock it. I like meeting people."

I do actually stare at him for this, in complete incredulity. Almost too afraid to laugh.

"Have you always been this sociable?"

"No," he laughs immediately.

"Thought not."

I know this is odd. I don't fully understand the extent of what is going on. The utter madness of Draco Malfoy being pleasant and laughing, and having given me a hangover cure, and given some semblance of care. It's almost impossible to not be dubious of exactly what's going on here. Am I being used? Is this any ploy? I have absolutely no idea what for. But I guess I am just a little uncertain. Urgh.

"I'd like to see you again," Malfoy says, quietly, his voice almost being lost to the wind.

"Funny, Malfoy," I say, smirking at him, one eyebrow raised.

"I'm not kidding, Hermione." I'm taken aback by his words, but try not to show it. "And I'm not drunk either. I think you're interesting and a bunch of other stuff too." He shrugs nonchalantly, and I'm confused.

"Other stuff?" I ask.

"Yeah."

 _Boys are useless_. I try to probe him for more of a substantial answer than this.

"Like?"

"I wasted time in high school," Malfoy murmurs, and runs a hand through his pale hair before putting his hand back deep into his pocket. "Being horrible. And now I just feel shitty about bits of it." I frown at him. I thought he was over that. He apologised last night. Right? I was there.

"Shitty about what? Bullying people?" I glance around again, watching those ahead of us. Fred and George broken off from Harry and Ginny and are hurrying up towards Ron and Natalie. No doubt to bother them in some way. They don't appear to be disheartened by whatever it was they spoke with Harry about. So that's nice for them.

"You didn't deserve what you got from me, in terms of treatment." I half roll my eyes at this, sort of fed up of him saying it. I know I was absolutely wasted last night when he told me, but not wasted enough to forget, and not to be bored of that self-resentment in his voice. Good thing he's a confident enough person to be cocky and not to wallow in some self-pity. Because that's just not good for you.

"And you're definitely sober?" I tease, nonetheless.

"Absolutely," he smiles. Kind of weird. "What's your favourite colour?"

"Blue," I reply instantly, deciding not to consider how very strange this all is. Malfoy mutters something like 'traitor', so I am obviously pushed into asking his favourite colour. Reluctantly? I'm not sure. "Yours?"

"Green. Obviously," he laughs. "Long live Slytherin. I didn't realise you would so easily betray your clan to be a Ravenclaw." The colour green having been that of his house during our school years. My own house was Gryffindor, which was the 'red house', and Ravenclaw was blue. Hufflepuff, yellow. Malfoy has always referred the Gryffindors as a clan, rather than any sort of house - he claimed a house would be far too formalised, and far too civilised to have anything to do with 'rowdy Gryffindors'.

"I'm not betraying them," I laugh along with him, thinking back to the days when we would have actually fought over what was said over each other's houses. It was that kind of boarding school, yes. We were hella competitive. "I've always liked blue. My yule ball dress was blue. For fourth year, when we had the exchange students."

"I remember that. Weird night," he comments offhandedly.

"Bloody hell. I don't remember even seeing you there, that night."

"Went with Pansy." He laughs at some private memory, but blanches when some of his own white-blonde fringe flaps into his eyes in the quickening breeze. Malfoy looks straight ahead, watching the others. "Probably where that damn rumour started." There isn't a trace of bitterness in his voice, which is positive. Maybe he's not all that regretful of whatever happened - or didn't happen - between him and pansy.

"Maybe when no one saw you, they expected you to be... Busy." He snort outright at my comment, and watches me for a moment or two, as if wondering exactly to say in return to my jibe.

"I was... _Busy."_

 _"Gross._ We were fifteen." I grimace. Maybe he did have a little something with her, then.

"And you never dipped your toe into that ginger pool before your adulthood?" I shake my head very firmly, dizzied by the end of it and grimacing even more at his words. How could he be so crude, especially after all this time. He nudges my shoulder with his own, causing me to stumble very slightly. Malfoy laughs. "Come on, Granger, I'm just teasing. You know that."

"I do," I reply.

We remain in silence for several steps, both of us smiling. I don't know how this happened, but it seems to be happening like some sort of dream. I am not 100% sure of what is going on, but I seem to be enjoying the company of one Draco Malfoy. And he seems to be being relatively pleasant. Meaning I am not sure whether I should be worried or pleased. Why is he just talking to me?

Up ahead, I spot Harry pausing in his walking and glancing backwards towards us. Through the wisps of cool air, he lets go of Ginny's hand, allows her to walk on, and he stays where he is, waiting? Why?

"See you in a bit," Malfoy says, half-smiling again, and he trundles on ahead in the direction of the twins who appear to be laughing uproariously about something. I can't decide whether Malfoy is brave or over-confident to be going to them, and choosing them to engage in conversation with. Perhaps even a wondering combination of the two. Boys are especially strange.

"What's up?" I ask Harry as I finally reach him, hands deep in my pockets to shield from the blindingly cold wind that gusts on.

"Just wanted to have a chat," he shrugs.

Helpful.

However, I nod at his antics. And fight the urge to flatten his hair as it rages battle on itself. No wonder Ginny makes sure to buy hair gel, even if he refuses to use it on almost every single day. Either way, I think I kind of like it. He might look very odd and flat if his hair was. The Harry that I know is specific about things, but not about his hair. So why is he purposefully directing conversation to me, on the day after his wedding?

"What's this about Harry?"

"It's about Malfoy." My stomach sinks slightly. Even though I know he and Harry must have some sort of weird grudging friendship, I have the suspicion it's not the greatest. And I don't really feel like I want Malfoy to go away just yet. He seems interesting, and interested in me. Granted, good for some fresh friendship aside from the others. Meaning, someone aside from Ron.

"Right," I say, trying not to let in on all my thoughts. "What about him?" Damn my stupid failed attempt at innocence.

"I just figured..." Harry begins, slowing his speech with care. "I figured I'd talk to you about him, without Ron interjecting and undermining everything anyone says in a rude way. I love the guy, but you know what I mean?" I laugh and nod my understanding. "So did you actually spend the entire evening with him?"

"As utterly strange and crazy as that sounds," I tell Harry, laughing again. He smirks. "You don't remember?"

"Not in the slightest."

I smile. How much did he drink in the end? Wine at the meal, and champagne with each toast. And then beer and more wine after the reception, with Ginny. God knows how wasted he got. I can't imagine he and Ginny actually stayed awake once they got to their room, despite all the marriage-evening stigma. They are exactly kind of people who will just fall into sleep as soon as a bed presents itself.

"I remember the meal," Harry informs me with a puzzled expression. I laugh.

"You and Ginny dances, then Ron was dancing with Natalie." I pause, seeing Harry's half-worried expression. Disregarding it, I continue. "So, I went to get a drink, and met Malfoy at the bar. I had no idea he invited," I laugh. "But then we actually got on really well."

"What happened between you two?" Harry looks sceptical, and glances up at Draco, who is talking animatedly with Fred and George up ahead.

"Nothing!" I say quickly. "Nothing like that, anyway. We just talked. And danced. He accused me of having bad taste. I called him a liar, and a mean person. He apologised." I shrug as though this is some sort of nonchalant and average thing, even the both of us know that this means a little something. It means that perhaps we underestimated Malfoy and his abilities in apologising. Which is weird.

"Blimey," mutters Harry. "So he was relatively nice?"

"He was alright, yes. You don't need to worry," I reassure him. For good measure, I pat him on the shoulder. Harry scrunches his nose up in distaste, which I know means that he doesn't want me to act like his mother at all. Too much experience of being accidental maternal, and being then completely rebuffed by a snotty Harry and Ron.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a dance," he says quietly.

"Do you not remember the last dance?" I laugh again, trying to sway him away from any sort of self-deprecation. A smile dawns far too slowly across his features. "Too much alcohol," I say. "Classic Weasley get-together. Speaking of, are you taking her name?"

Harry shakes his head. "Don't think so. We haven't talked about it." He pauses. "Ginny Potter sounds nice though. Not so much Harry Weasley."

We laugh then, talk some more about the many combinations of names that Harry and Ginny could possibly come up with - their names just amalgamated into one jumble of letters, and other arrangements that sound just as ridiculously wonderful. Thankfully, Harry finds it just as funny as I do, which is nice.

In our slightly hungover and definitely cheerful states, suddenly the sun is just that bit better. As Molly and Arthur wander back to the hall, we end up playing a few beach games, having found a tennis ball lying on the dunes. Fred and George get really into the games, as ever, which is funny. Surprisingly, Draco takes part as well. As the day wears on even more, the sun bursts through the clouds, showing us clean blue skies. When the ball goes into the sea, Fred fights George to get into the ocean, both of them coming out soaked, and the games stop on their high note.

Eventually we have to turn back, sand having seeped into our shoes. Malfoy walks beside me again, not even frowning at his appearance, shirt untucked, and blonde hair falling into his own eyes. Instead, he smiles at me, ad bumps his shoulder gently into mine. In a completely uncharacteristic way. Oddly enough, I find myself smiling back at him, and kick sand up his trousers for fun. Malfoy raises an eyebrow at me.

Then he bends down, and flicks sand up from the ground, all over me.

Bastard.

I grin. _The game is on._

Everything seems to fade into the background as I chase him, the wet sand in my arms, screaming bloody murder. He's laughing, not really running properly. And I swear he lets me catch him and dump the lot onto his hair, and his neck, and his back.

I feel the very slightest twinge of adrenaline as he turns around. He's got that look in his eye. I've never seen it in Malfoy's eyes before, but I've seen it in other peoples. Mainly Ginny. That almost indescribable piece of mischief. And of course, this is moments before he chases me into the sea, grabbing me behind the knees and lifting me over his shoulders, so I'm thumping on the his back, laughing.

"Malfoy, stop it!" I laugh, as he runs out to the sea. "Put me down!"

Just then, Ron stalks past us, scowling.

"Put me down, please," I say quietly. And he does, frowning.

As we walk back towards the others, I can't help but think that maybe I let myself loose a little too much. And that this kind of display is wrong, and shouldn't happen. And that I definitely should not be like with Draco Malfoy. But the main, if not the only, problem is that I liked it. It was fun to just laugh, and not have to be the one with the serious job, and the serious outlook on life, and is single for practical reasons.

So damn me for eternity for having the smallest of crushes on Draco Malfoy.

And damn Ron for making me feel bad.


	9. Chapter 9

**Because the last chapter was late, have an early one! Only two more completed chapters after this! Then updates will probably be a lot slower. Apologies for that, but you might get some oneshots in the interim! Enjoy!**

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 **The Long Way Home**

The walk back to the house barely seems to take any time at all. I walk by myself this time around, taking in the air, and praising Malfoy's hangover recipe. With even the faintest thought of the blonde-haired man, who is no longer walking beside me, my face turns horrifically red and I get that awful gut feeling - you know, the one where you feel embarrassed, but know that you shouldn't be. That one. So, I try my very hardest not to think of him, and focus on my senses as a distraction.

Ginny is superbly organised when we reach the halls of the house, immediately sending everyone upstairs to pack their things.

"Meet back here in an hour, and then we need to pack up the rest of our things," Ginny tells us all, scratching her head almost absentmindedly. I find myself nodding along with everyone else. Harry takes Ginny's hand and leads her away, soothing her. It's sweet, really. If a tiny bit sick-inducing. Then again, I'm a bit of a cynic. Instead of cooing like everyone else, I turn away and head towards the stairs, thinking about the rest of the day ahead. Teddy's stopping by later, and we all have to have packed up by lunchtime, and then Ginny and Harry will leave for their one-month honeymoon.

A month, I know, is a long time. But with Harry being so rich, and both of them having flexible timetables, they can just about get away with it. But I'll miss them.

My bag takes barely fifteen minutes to pack. I've become some sort of expert over the years, learning how to fold things, and how exactly to put them into a suitcase in the most efficient way. When Ron and Harry left it in my room, they'd not unpacked anything – thank god – and my wash stuff was right at the top. All that was left to do was to zip my dress back into the plastic cover. I don't know whether this is just me, but I almost feel as though this is an ending of things. Zipping away the bridesmaid dress feels like locking away a part of me that had fun with Draco Malfoy at a wedding. It feels like locking away the part of me which forgot about Ron for an entire evening. And now that it's over, I will probably have to see him at weekends to assuage his loneliness, as the only remaining best friend he has. I can't say I'm looking forwards to that.

I clamber back down the stairs ungracefully, with the huge plastic bag rustling unpleasantly, and trying to balance my suitcase and handbag as well. How did I even need this much for a short weekend away?

"Granger, you're about to fall down the stairs. Let me take that," Malfoy demands, grabbing a hold onto my suitcase as I rest it for a moment. Before I can utter a word of protest, he's gone with it, and walking with a jaunty ease. It makes me incredibly annoyed.

"Malfoy!" I shout in frustration. He ignores me, instead plonking my case at the bottom of the stairs, along with his own, beside Harry and Ginny's matching blue ones.

"You're welcome," Malfoy intones with a smirk.

Half-heartedly cursing his name, I follow him into the main hall, where Harry and Ginny are already there, carefully packing ornaments into cardboard boxes.

"Draco, wine. Hermione, cakes," Ginny instructs, not even looking up. _Thank God_. Finally, a little piece away from Draco. Even though I'm still horrifically drawn to him from across the room. Urgh.

Despite my internal battle, I stare down at the remainder of the cake we intend to take back with us. Two tiers of the originally-enormous fondant cake go into Tupperware boxes, while cupcakes go into a tin Mrs Weasley provides as she enters the room with Arthur. It's cute, really. A Cath Kidston one, with too many flowers, in a non-uniform pattern. It takes around half a roll of kitchen towels to move the delicate confectionary into the tins, and with much holding of breath. Thankfully, Ginny doesn't see me almost drop it, even if Percy does (yes, he did give me a 'look' of superiority). Anyway, it means I am mentally exhausted by the time Teddy arrives, bounding into the room with his grandmother, Andromeda.

"Uncle Harry!" he shrieks in delight, barrelling into Harry with the force of someone ten years older than him. Still only the tender age of seven, his hair is pale blonde, like his mother's when she was younger, before it turned brown, and then was dyed candy-floss pink about a year before Teddy was born. His eyes are still bright with creative passion and childlike wonder, which is probably why he permanently exhausts his father, Remus, and enthrals his mother, Nymphadora. They really are wonderfully matched parents.

Teddy drags Harry around the room for a good twenty minutes, talking about what a good time he had with Granny, and how he wishes Harry had a nice day, but was sorry that he couldn't be there. However, that's where the limits of Teddys adult conversation drifts away, and he wants to talk about Lego and marble-madness. Halfway through a long explanation and description of his new Scalextric set, Remus trundles through the room with a box full of papers from the wedding – name-cards, speech prompts, and all important marriage-licenses. Together, Remus and Andromeda persuade Teddy to play with Fred and George while everyone else gets packed up.

Only the family and close friends are left now – weirdly, including Draco – all the boxes arranged into three small piles.

"Ron, Mum and Draco's cars are the ones taking boxes back to Hermione's," Ginny tells everyone as they start to move across the dirty gravel, onto the carpark, heaving boxes in their arms. I take a moment to glance around at Draco, who is too heavily-laden to shrug nonchalantly, although I am sure he would have done if he could. And Ginny isn't even looking at me.

"Chill Gin," Fred tells her, grinning. "We got this."

"Hermione, I need a quick chat," Malfoy says, setting down the boxes beside his car – nothing too flashy, surprisingly, but a nice VW polo. He unlocks it with the click of a button, which makes me laugh because my little car does not have central locking. I just wait for him to speak, both hands holding the box of the cakes, so unable to form any kind of power-pose. "Look, I know you're planning to go back with Ron and Natalie. So, I'm just going to go ahead and give you another option."

"What option?" I ask, far too quickly. But there's no one else around at the moment except for Malfoy and me.

"You can come in my car, if you like. Then you won't have to hang out with Ginger and the side-bit," he jokes, unsuccessfully. Malfoy begins to load the two boxes he was carrying into the boot, with me following suit. "I'm not a bad driver, my music is moderate and regular, and I think that it would probably be better for you than stewing between that couple."

"Probably," I muse. "Alright, fine."

"Good," he smiles. I scowl. "Why are we taking all this crap back to yours, anyway?"

"Because I have a spare room," I reply as we begin to walk back to the group and our menagerie of boxes. "While they're away, I said that Harry and Ginny could leave the stuff at my flat, and not worry about it while they're on their honeymoon. Just one of those things," I explain.

I swear he mutters something about all of us being weird, but a sudden rush of harsh wind steals his words, and I don't ask him to repeat them. That would make it sound like I am at all interested in anything he has to say. But my mind quickly turns quiet again, no longer relishing in the words he speaks, and movements he makes that might indicate anything other than begrudging friendship towards me. God, I am so pathetic. _Pathetic_. Instead of noticing, I pride myself in discerning the rest of the surroundings; the curling of rain clouds in the far-off distance; flowers drifting solemnly into each other; the woody scent of the hall, and stuffy car fumes from the taxi pulling up beside the house. A man steps out from it, turning off the engine, is guided inside, and proceeds to haul Harry and Ginny's cases into the boot of the taxi. He looks worn, as if tired out by a long day and too many or two few people. Maybe there really is no happy in between.

 _Right. Now I am done with wallowing in self-pity. Draco and I shared an evening of fun and relaxation, and it was only a distraction. So, now I am going to go in a car with him for an hour and a half, and not think about him in any other way than begrudging friendship, and certainly not the gentle press of his fingertips as he undressed me…_

Oh, my God. Did that happen?

"We'll see you all in a month," Harry is saying, beginning to shake hands with Arthur, then Percy, and the rest of Ginny's brothers. He hugs Luna, Fleur, and Mrs Weasley especially. Ginny hugs everyone else, finally reaching me. My eyes sting as we hug for the briefest of moments.

"I'll see you soon," she says, smiling brightly. I pretend like I'm not about to cry all over her, and stick to a beaming smile and a wave as both her and Harry step into the taxi, and wave out of the windows until they have completely disappeared around the final corner of the stretching driveway. Molly Weasley sniffles loudly, and instructs,

"Back to it, we have to leave in ten minutes," leaving all of us rushing to pack final pieces into the three cars. "See you back at yours, dear," she tells me, with a quick hug. "We're going to pick up a bit of shopping on the way, and I think Natalie wants to do a bit of shopping in Cambridge, so we'll all see you later on this afternoon."

"Okay Molly, I'll see you then."

Luna and Neville take the train home, while Percy takes a different train back to London, and Fred and George pile into Bill and Fleur's comfortable family car. I hug Bill before I leave.

"Text me if you get a chance," I tell him, on the edge of worrying about him.

"I'll text you anyway," he replies, grinning broadly, and looking very much like the roguish young man I met ten years ago. I smile back, before I am physically assaulted by the two strong-bodied twins, who are hugging me and pretending to cry through their laughter.

"Oh Hermione," George weeps, sniggering. "We are going to miss you so much! Even though we are only just down the road from you!"

"You'll visit us often, won't you?" Fred cries, squeezing me tightly and pretending to shake with sobbing tears. "I mean, we just can't bear the shop without your presence, oh sweet Hermione!"

"Get off!" I laugh, pushing with all my force against them. "I'll use my teacher voice if you're not careful!"

"Oh, please do!" George hollers right into my ear.

"George!" I shriek he plants a kiss on my cheek, and Fred imitates. "Fred!"

They both pull away, grinning – not even sheepishly, I might add – and tuck their hands into their jackets. I'm still laughing, and wiping away the horrible amount of saliva which Fred seemed to have plastered onto my cheek. Gross, and yet just so funny at a time like this.

"Lunch next Saturday?" George asks, still grinning. I nod, breathless from laughing. Both boys salute, and amble over to Bill and Fleur, now standing by their car, the pair of them just as handsome as they ever were, and knowing it. I shake my head in wondering disbelief, finally turning to the house and uttering a silly but necessary 'thank you' to it's beautiful walls. Then I pray for the drive back to Norwich, and hope that Draco doesn't drive like a bloody idiot.

Draco is already in the car by the time I reach it again, setting himself up, and putting a CD into the dash. I pop open the passenger door and slide in, feeling very much like I am entering the very belly of the beast itself. I reach behind my seat and pull my handbag around to me, not looking at him as he sets off down the gravelly path, and out of the too-long driveway of the house. For the first time in a long while, I check my phone. _Crap_. Two-hundred and five new emails. _What the heck even is this?_ Over two hundred emails in three days is some kind of weird new record for me. A crapstorm, that's what it is.

The hour and a half we spend in the car is fairly pleasant. Malfoy lets me change the music, and chats to me agreeably when I find a particularly grim email ("why can't the students understand simple instructions; I told them I'd be away" – "Hermione, they probably weren't listening"). Malfoy also points out areas of interest along the way, where he can; places he's been and would like to go, even on this short journey. Eventually, I become extraordinarily bored with emails, and complaining students, and teacher functions, and library book reminders – the only interesting emails are the ones from the publishing company, discussing new projects I could take on, but I don't have time to respond about my lack of time. Instead, I ask Malfoy mundane questions you ask people when you meet them for the first time.

"Dogs or cats?"

"Dogs," he answers. I nod, interested. I like dogs too, but prefer cats.

"Favourite movie?"

"Godzilla." He glances sideways at me. "You?"

"Too many to think. I like rom-com's though; 27 Dresses, or …. Favourite colour? Wait, I already asked this."

"Green. You?"

"Typical. Blue." He laughs then. "What music do you like?"

"I thought we already spoke about this last night?" he asks, smiling placidly as we traverse around a particularly large roundabout. "Classical, a bit of alternative, and I have a guilty pleasure for Eminem."

"Wow," I laugh.

"What about you? What are your guilty pleasures?" He asks with a sly grin.

"Lady Gaga," I say in all seriousness, but he laughs anyway. "Pop music is my guilty pleasure, and modern-classical." I pause, thinking about it for a moment longer. "But I actually like a lot of alternative stuff. Alt-J, Paramore, Kings of Convenience. And Eminem," I add. He laughs shortly again. "I'll be honest, I don't remember that much about last night."

"I remember bits and pieces," he tells me.

We're then thrown into another bout of silence. Malfoy turns up the music, instead of having to talk to me, which is completely fair enough. Disregarded my dizziness, I read on my phone for a little while, until finally deciding that I really cannot answer any more emails, even if my students are horrifically desperate. I just can't do it. I'll answer them when I get home.

Malfoy helps to unload the car into my house. The sun is beating more heavily now, pulsating on the hard ground. I sift through the mail while Malfoy makes two cups of tea, having set down the boxes in the spare room. I gave him a brief tour once we were in, while he awkwardly followed me around the house. I watch him carefully, completely uncertain what his reaction is going to be. Occasionally, I remember how very little I know him. He laughs lightly at the ridiculous family photos scattered around, and is intrigued by my very small wine collection (essentially just things my father agreed I needed to be a _true adult_ ). Malfoy looks through my book collection, and the relatively big stack of DVDs rested on the television cabinet, and points out a few of his favourites for my vague entertainment.

"You have a lot of books," he comments every so often, musing almost to himself.

"I'm an English teacher," I reply just as easily.

"Is that a reason or excuse?" he asks, turning to me finally, after the fourth time I answer in this way.

"Is there a difference when it comes to Literature?" I parry. Draco grins. Then he picks a particular book off the shelf, turns to halfway through the book, and begins to read in a slow and calm voice.

" _Alice in Wonderland_ " I cringe at the words. "Not keen?" Draco asks.

"No," I laugh, remembering the book club I had attended during University, and how very little I had been interested in Alice in Wonderland, in spite of my horrific love for Literature. How very disappointed I had been when reading it not only wasted my time, but wasted my braincells. So, I don't have many positive thoughts towards the book. When I found out that Carrol wrote it while on LSD, it made a lot more sense as to why it made absolutely no sense.

"I always liked it," Malfoy says, putting the book back. _Strike one._ "My mother read it to me when I was younger, and it was the only time she really spent being a bit ridiculous." I smile in spite of myself. How dare he make Alice in Wonderland sound barely tolerable, in the least. "If you hate it so much, why do you have a copy?"

"I always get bought books," I answer, sweeping a finger along the Percy Jackson spines, which were the first books bought by my Granddad, several years before high school.

"But why keep them all? It's not a big space."

"It's big enough," I defend, leaning against the door of my very little library. But Draco just smiles back at me. I can't blame him really. Rich beyond comparison, he probably has a _Beauty and the Beast_ library, with thousands of books. Some untouched, others loved by generations. "Anyway," I say, "When I'm old and rich, I'll move into a big house, have lots of books, and maybe a piano for fun." I laugh humourlessly.

"You play?" he asks, picking up _Fates and Furies_ by Lauren Groff – an excellent book that I will forever be in love and turmoil about – and flicking casually through the three-hundred pages.

"Not in the slightest." Malfoy reads the final page. _Damn him_.

"Who's Lotto?"

"One of the main characters." He grimaces. "Do you play?"

"Why have more than one main character," he muses to himself, then realises I asked a question. "Yes. Have done for a long time. One of those things rich families get people to do, play piano, and a lot of other string instruments. I hated violin, despised the cello, never picked up guitar, and tolerated piano." He laughs this time, and the sets the book down again, now moving to my 'fancy' book shelf – the old copies of _Old Mortality_ , and _Pride and Prejudice_ , and the beautifully bound version of _Moby Dick._ I internally wince when he picks up the latter, feeling extraordinarily territorial over it.

"Multiple characters are used for layered story and reader satisfaction," I recall an old Narratology script from a year ago – a particularly vivacious author, with a knack for observation, and a lacking talent for structure. Draco nods in approval. "Anyway, but why play if you've only ever tolerated it?"

This time, it takes him longer to answer. The question turns itself around in his mind, working its way through. In the meantime, he puts back _Moby Dick_ (much to my relief) and scratches his head thoughtfully. It can't be that difficult a question, can it? I move into the spare bedroom, beginning to sift through the boxes we brought up here about an hour – _an hour!_ – ago. Draco follows me, still thinking over this ridiculous answer. I wonder how exhausting it would be to continue many conversations with him.

"I didn't say that I've _only ever tolerated_ it," he answers, finally, as I'm delving through the second box, labelling each one with a yellow post-it and a sharpie. "But that's how my family has always worked. Tolerance, I mean. It's key terminology to a Malfoy." I roll my eyes. Right, the whole blood superiority thing again. _Getting tired of it, now_. "My parents _tolerate_ each other. I tolerate them. We all tolerate my simplistic musical stills."

"Sounds miserable." I label the third box _ornaments_.

"It's tolerable."

We have to laugh then. And continue to laugh, sifting through the rest of the boxes, and asking which things belong to which person, and talking about the wonderful intricacies. He tells me about a week in which the Malfoy Manor had a puppy, while Blaise and his mother were attending a funeral in Italy. The puppy then weed on Lucius Malfoy's shoes, without his notice, which has me giggling for a long time just imagining Draco's father walking in pee-shoes. I tell him about my horrific experience with a bandy-legged cat and several eggs, as an exchange. We continue like this, exchanging stories as though they are valuable to the other of us. It doesn't take long before we are wrapped in our own bubble, too relaxed, too friendly, and too many, caught by the unexpected.

But then the doorbell rings, and Ron walks in, announcing the presence of himself and Natalie. She awkwardly stumbles in behind him, not quite comfortable in the surroundings get.

Just like that, my laughter dies on a breath, and our small competition is over. I glance at Draco, who is holding up a box of plates, as donated by my mother. He sets them aside, frowning very slightly, the laughter not quite gone from his lips. Together, we walk down the stairs, me first, and then him, into the belly of the beast. By beast, I mean the terrible social situation.

"Why is he here?" Ron demands as we descend. Natalie busies herself with her uncomplicated shoelaces and handbag strap, muttering something about _boxes_ and _car_. Ron doesn't move his eyes away from Draco, frozen in confusion, as Draco stands still in a perfect power-pose on my narrow staircase. Malfoy doesn't let any clue as to our activities. Which, I think, makes Ron angrier.

"Helping out," Malfoy says simply. He shrugs. "Speaking of, we're done here, aren't we?" Without waiting for an answer, he moves down the stairs, through the corridor, grabbing his shoes and tying them quickly, explaining, "I best be off. Meeting tomorrow morning." He doesn't look at us while saying it, then finally glances around very briefly. "Lovely seeing you, Hermione." It almost sounds fake; something you say after seeing an old friend that you're not that keen on. It feels like an anvil on my chest. "Weasley, look after her." _Odd request_. "I'll add you on Facebook."

This finalises the strangest goodbye Draco Malfoy has ever committed in his life. Then he steps out, into his car, and drives away before I can suggest that he stay for tea.

Because God forbid.

For what feels like the rest of the day – and night, _eternity_ , all that malarkey – Ron and Natalie detail their little outings ("the weather was perfect", "we had a lovely time") in that vague non-storyteller way. They stay and chat briefly about work ("you know, this and that") in that same vague way. And I always though Ron was interesting. Somehow Natalie makes him exceptionally, and unbearably, boring, and therefore exceptionally unattractive. Which is more of a bonus than winning the lottery.

Turns out, they don't stay long enough for me to offer them a cup of tea. _Shame._

Molly and Arthur, however, do stay for tea and a few gingernut biscuits, arriving just an hour after Ron and Natalie leave. I'm not sure whether that is coincidental or not. However, their stories are more brief, and far more interesting than Natalie could make a heist sound.

When they leave, I order a Chinese takeaway, put a bottle of Merlot out to breathe, and flop down onto the sofa, watching old recordings of Brooklyn 99 reruns. It takes one episode for the food to arrive, and seven more before I go to bed. I don't think about the marking I have to get done. Tomorrow is bank holiday, so plenty of time yet. I don't think about the potential (read: highly likely) hangover I will get.

I'm supposed to read The Colour Purple, but am too tired once I'm in my pyjamas. Instead, I fall asleep, right after I see that Draco Malfoy has added me on Facebook.


	10. Chapter 10

**I am so sorry about the frequency of my updates! I haven't written more than chapter 11 still. I'm going to try and crack it though, and hopefully work it on a whole bunch over the coming weeks. For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

 **Back to normal: Hermione waking up, and having a regular day**

 **0-0-0-0**

"Hi mum. Just calling to see if you're about today. You're obviously out doing something amazing. As ever." I smile. "Anyway, I've got Harry and Ginny's plates back for you – they say thanks, by the way – to drop off whenever you're about."

My voice, steady and calm, fills the silent void after the tone, lower than usual due to sleep deprivation. "Lots of love," I finish, and hang up the phone with a click, slotting it back into the holder on my bedside table. Luxuriously, I sink back into the comfort of my duvet, relishing in the warmth of it. So much to do today. How unfortunate and inconvenient. Totally impossible for me to have a lie-in. _Shame_. My riotous alarm kicked that laziness out of me about an hour ago.

Instead of lying there for another minute, I get up, push apart the pale curtains, and stumble towards my dressing gown, and the bathroom.

Teeth brushed, hair out of my face, I traipse downstairs, checking my phone once in the lounge. _Notification from Harry Potter_. I open the notification onto Facebook, a picture no less. Harry and Ginny, swathed in glorious, golden light, stretching their arms above the ocean horizon. It looks beautiful, and I really do hope they're having a wonderful time. It's nice enough here, but it is definitely not Bora Bora.

Three episodes of New Girl later, and I am on the sofa, answering those damn emails I thought were important.

 _Miss Granger how long is our exam? What happens if I'm ill on the day?_

And

 _Miss Granger,  
Why do we study Of Mice and Men if that's American? I only know English context. Is that the same?_

And

 _To Mrs Granger  
Do you know what our unseen poetry will be?_

These are the kind of emails I don't enjoy getting. Which means they take the triple the amount of time they would naturally take to answer. In between each of the emails, I get cups of tea, watch the television, check Facebook about seven times, and then finally bust out a packet of biscuits. And I haven't had breakfast at this point. And I'm not married. That one stings particularly harshly.

I pop some toast on, hoping to propel myself a little further into the day, electing to make it into some sort of cheese toast, for lunch. Meanwhile, I get dressed. For working, I find that the best clothes are ones that are both comfortable and make you feel as though you are going out somewhere. For example, a night shirt with comfortable jeans. It's motivating, sort of.

Halfway through the vaguely sultry afternoon, my mother calls me back.

"Hermione love, I've just got your message. Sorry, I was out with Jean and Pamela for a long stroll with Jack and Billie."

"Sorry, who?" I laugh, having raced for the phone for something to do.

"Jack and Billie. Billie and Jack. Pamela's little dogs."

"Oh right, sorry mum." I shift the phone more easily onto my shoulder, tapping out another email to a student.

 _Dear Jack,  
The essay question was  
'How does Shakespeare present the theme of power in Macbeth'.  
Let me know how you get on,  
Miss Granger_

"Anyway, I'm back now, so you're welcome to pop over any time," she says smilingly.

"Okay, thanks Mum. I might come over just after 2pm if that's alright?"

"Of course, honey. Have you checked in with your father today? I think they're off to Penzance this afternoon." My wonderful father, who is down in Cornwall, visiting his sister for the long weekend.

"Nice," I reply, hitting send on the email to Jack Chambers, one of my more gifted students in Year 10. "I'll give him a call after this. Just doing some student emails, and then a bit of marking." My mother tuts and laughs. I know she doesn't approve of my working on Bank Holidays. Alas, it has to happen, and I hate not working. So, there we have it.

"Okay love, see you in a while!"

"Love you lots, Mum."

"Love you too, honey." The she hangs up.

Emails finished, I move onto marking. A stack of three year groups lie on my desk, untouched for a week now. It really is a good thing they're all younger students, as the older ones are significantly more exhausting, and more time consuming. In my marking, I gravitate onto the floor of the lounge, having made a new, invigorating summery drink to spice up this not-exciting-at-all part of my day.

Three books in, my phone buzzes. I leap up, pulling it to me immediately. It's a text from Bill, as well as another message from O2 claiming that I can now get free texts in Europe. Both equally surprising and interesting texts.

 _Good to catch up the other day. Off to Egypt again. Talk soon!_

While I try to decide whether this is unusual or not, I flick through the rest of my notifications. Facebook, a bunch of comments on photos of Harry and Ginny. Twitter, JK Rowling messing with another fan again. Instagram, Shay Mitchell looks stunning everywhere she goes. Snapchat, my friends are enjoying the sunshine doing other things. YouTube, Dodie Clark uploaded a new video. A new follower on WordPress, which is definitely unusual considering I have a following of approximately twelve at the moment. _It's not unheard of for Bill to message me. Then again, not exactly common either._ Best to stop thinking about it.

At the end of the first set of markings, the clock strikes half past one. So, I shove on a pair of flats, snatch up the plates and cutlery from upstairs, and get in my car to go.

My mother is out in the garden when I turn up, sifting through her most recent plant pot acquisition.

"Hiya mum," I call across the paving slabs. She turns to me in the sunlight, smiling brightly. "Where did you want me to put the plates? I left them in the lounge for now."

"Oh, Hermione love that's alright, they'll need to go in the cupboard upstairs. I can do that though. Did you want a cup of tea?" She hugs me quickly, stepping backwards to shimmy out of her gardening gloves and set the secateurs on the table.

"Sure. I'll put your plates away."

I grab the boxes and run upstairs, unable to hear the click and pop of the kettle as the tea is made. The cupboard my mother mentioned is the in her spare bedroom, filled with gaudy figurines and collectables from throughout her years. A couple of things have to be moved to put the plates and cutlery back into place, but it doesn't take long before I am jogging back downstairs and out into the garden where my mother has set up two mugs and a small plate of biscuits. _Good call_. I smile.

"Did you call your father?" she asks, biting into a gingernut.

"No, I will later tonight. When is he coming home?"

"Wednesday evening, after Sandra's birthday on the Tuesday."

I nod in acknowledgement.

The sun glows orange in the sky, sending everything into the same sunburst light, turning the from deep red to a smouldering pink. The leaves rustle ever so slightly in the gentle breeze. Caught on the fence sits a cat, watching us in interest. Funny, cats always seem to be watching something to me. Several times my mother points out new additions, and how blooming her geranium is, and how well the clematis is doing this year, tethered to the trellis. I admire them cordially, never having been especially interested in horticulture.

"How was the wedding?" my mother eventually asks.

"Really nice actually. I don't know what I was really expecting," I laugh, and my mother smiles back at me, looking slightly anxious. Maybe I'm intruding on her precious time?

"And Ron? Was everything okay with him?"

I pause.

"I think so. I managed to find other people to spend time with, so that was okay." _Absolutely leaving out the part about Draco Malfoy being the one I spent nearly all of my time with_. "I spoke to Bill, which was nice. And Fleur was actually fairly pleasant."

"They are an odd bunch," my mother muses quietly. "However, I did see something strange. Draco Malfoy was there?"

"Oh, yeah," I say, panicking on the inside. What has she seen? "Weirdly, he was invited," I laugh, hoping she doesn't ask too much more. Obviously not.

"So, did you speak to him?" I nod. "Did he say much?"

"Yeah, bits and pieces," I reply, making my voice casual. But I can't lie to my mother. "I actually spoke to him quite a lot. He was charming, and we kind of spent most of our time together. We danced. I had a good time with him." She frowns at me. "He apologised for everything."

"Well, I suppose that's good," my mother remarks, setting down her mug. "Did Ron have anything to say about that?" She stands and wanders over to her small pile of mail, obviously having other things to do whilst talking to me. I'm fine with that, but still. Courtesy, right?

"He didn't say enough to be hurtful," I laugh. "Just some comments here and there about Draco which were unnecessary."

I leave shortly after that, claiming I have more work to do, as I know that my mother has other things on her mind. Namely, everything else which occupies her life other than me. When I get home, I call my father. He doesn't have much to say, and I'm glad that he's having a good time with the other side of his family, as they live so far away. A little bored, I turn to the fridge, hoping for something tasty. No such luck, of course. Some ketchup, a pepper, and nowhere near enough to last me another day. Great, down to Tesco it is.

Deciding to walk it, I plug into some decent music and bring along a short list of everything I might possibly need to buy for the following week. Bread. Pesto. Tomato sauce, for a pasta dish at some point. A couple of chicken pieces.

The rest of my extraordinarily dull day is made up of reading.

 _Theory of development in human nature during the twenty and twenty-first century_

 _Human Nature develops in the way of a positive feedback system. Although each of us have our own Regressive Cycles, generally we progress, and therefore progress due to the progression. From learning one thing, we learn a new branch of new things, and branches on each of those branches. Much like how a Nuclear Reactor works. As the world develops, our nature in society may change in certain areas, and not in others. Progression causes the want to progress, and then an inability to return to Base State._

 _The Base State doesn't refer to our Regressive Cycle, as it actually in fact refers to our instincts and to who we are as Humans, rather than as people. A Recessive Symptom could be returning to parents, and wanting comfort food from a childhood memory, whereas the Base State refers to our want to protect our own, and to provide for our family and ourselves. We can trace these aspects hundreds of years, to the nature of cavemen and to the Biblical Times, where Human Nature began in the purest and rawest of forms; as needs, rather than wants._

Honestly, it's an incredibly interesting read. Not something I would ever have looked at before, but worth a good enough mark to be published. I made small notes in a blue pencil along the margin, filling the white gaps with suggestions for places where the reading isn't quite as good as the rest. The problem with this one is that it doesn't know whether to be conversation or an academic report on the author's writings. It would possibly work better as conversational, but that's something they need to decide for themselves. I write that in capitals across the topic of the pages, "academic or conversation?".

…

Tuesday rolls through easily, with only several small things happening throughout the day to cause any sort of concern. Just one of my colleagues arguing with another, and making life a little more difficult than it really needs to be. There aren't any difficult kids though, which is probably due to a very nice long weekend. Wednesday isn't quite so easy, as the whole of year eleven take their language exam. A few of my favourite students come to see me afterward, telling me that it went well and that I'm a great teacher. When they leave I shed a couple of tears, and then wipe them away, feeling utterly silly. I've only known them two years, but I still feel close to all of my students.

Thursday is the hard day of my week.

Not every Thursday is a bad day, but Thursdays tend to have those awkward moments during a working day in which absolutely everything seems to go wrong.

I turn up to work on time to find a pile of paperwork all over my desk, with a bunch of sticky notes attached between the sheets. _Great_. Computer loaded, files ready, and then the projector isn't working. This all happens far too early in the day. So, I turn to the plain whiteboard, quickly turning my lesson plans into sheets so I can refer to them throughout the day, and planning quickly to call someone about the projector at my earliest convenience. _Crap_.

Thursday also happens to be the morning of teacher conference in the staff room. I managed to stumble into the meeting just as it began, having desperate done some photocopying, and not having had my morning cup of tea yet.

"Wonderful Miss Granger, you made it," calls out the Head, Mr Harrold Bens. An odd name, I know. I smile at him as I take my seat. Harrold is a middle-aged man who is the sort of Head Teacher I could imagine myself being. He's not especially strict, but certainly characteristic and intelligent enough to be all the power we would need in a Head. And everyone loves him. "Now, the school prom is in just under a month and we need chaperones. Anyone who is available, put your names on the list." There is a brief murmur of assent and discussion. "Next thing on the agenda is trips. We are taking recommendations from every department at the moment and anything for the lesser subjects would be greatly appreciated. Finally, we have to congratulate one of our teachers on a very special achievement this week."

I look around. Who?

"Miss Granger, who has been awarded teacher of the year."

As a student, this may sound like a wonderful idea. To a teacher, this is the most nightmarish and horrific situation that you can ever possibly be in. Surrounded by peers, and being acclaimed to be better than all of them. As I child, I hated it. Now, I hate it even more.

After the horribly awkward congratulations, I go back to my classroom and collapse in the roll-chair behind my desk. It spins for a second or two before I correct it and open my emails. Only seventeen. That's a fair amount. I stow my small certificate in a drawer and put the flowers in the sink in my small office through the side of the classroom. Thankfully, or otherwise, I don't have to share it with other teachers.

At half-past eight, three teachers come to see me at once. With only half an hour until the school day, I am rapidly sorting through files for the day, updating spreadsheets, and determinedly reading the bright orange post-it's on my pile of paperwork. Three English teachers with proposals in their eyes, and papers in their arms.

"Hiya Hermione," Elaine says, setting her paper on the table right in front of the teacher's desk. "We've got some proposals for trips for you. Sarah said you could sort through them and advise on the best thing, being so experienced and all." I smile good-naturedly and give my agreement. Elaine is a good friend. "Our proposals are fairly short, so they shouldn't take any time at all."

"Just be wary that Miller is striving straight for the big guns, and not at all going to ask permission of the English department before he gets the money," Sam interjects. I roll my eyes. _Great_ , more drama.

"Okay, thanks guys," I reply, seeing the time. The bell will ring any second, and I have a form of rowdy year nines to deal with. After placing the papers onto the rest of the tables, they leave together for the other English classrooms in our block.

As predicted, the bell rings and I hear my class start to line up outside. I haul the papers into neat piles on my desk, in drawers, and scattered a little further afield, and then proceed to invite them inside.

"Alright, I've got stuff to do. Talk amongst yourselves. I'll put music on." The form group settle easily, pushing chairs around to talk to their friends, and making sure I can't see that they're on their phones. It's funny that they think I don't notice what they're doing, even from the very corners of my eyes. But I don't tell them off, because they're not in a lesson, and it's not up to me right now to correct them.

Of course, Mr Bens walks in during my form-time to congratulate me on being the best teacher, and cuts down my working time from fifteen minutes to approximately five.

Obviously, the papers I end up reading are not at all interesting. However, I manage to write up short proposal version of each to present. At Lunchtime, I send them to Mr Bens, and proceed with the enormous pile of marking I have to get done as well. 60 Mock papers to mark, and English is the subject which is most indicative, which means it takes absolutely ages to read a single paper. Halfway through lunch, Sammy Johnson comes to see me. My resident best friend (from work).

"Hey, oh woah you look super busy," she says, knocking lightly on the door with her satchel thrown over one shoulder. I glance up at her briefly to smile weakly. "Oh honey, don't worry. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Honestly?"

"I swear. I have nothing to do."

"Can you sort this pile of photocopies so they are stapled with three different poems?" I gesture to the newest bumf addition on the table next to me desk. Sammy takes a huge bite from her sandwich, making me laugh in the process, and begins to sort through the huge pile, setting the three poems out. I am extremely grateful, but also extremely busy. In between marking, sorting, and generally stressing, we chat about our weekends and the blessing and curse of a bank holiday. When the bell rings for the end of lunch, she places the poems on my desk, fully stapled, and arranged for easy access to a new set. _Thank God for Sammy Johnson_.

Super smart, and clever. Tall and athletic as well, which is refreshing sometimes with a lot of people here being the sort to just spend a whole week marking, and not keep a second of it for leisure or exercise. Sammy Johnson, the excellent and underrated physics NQT.

When I finally get home, there is mail in the form of new manuscripts, with small notes attached to them, explaining their purpose, and a couple of subscription leaflets. I'm determined to not do any more work tonight, and instead elect to sit on the sofa, drink a little bit of wine – not too much – and watch reruns of The Vampire Diaries. Horribly, it makes me think of Draco, and of the weekend having been my only snippet into a strangely romanticised situation. The sexual tension and drama of Damon and Elena almost leaves me craving for something similar, for something that is just as epic, in my small and insignificant life.

I watch four episodes of the damn thing, each one leaving me more invested in their lives.

Then I message Draco Malfoy, goddammit.

 _Hermione: Thanks for spending time with me_

 _Hermione: God, that sounded cheesy_

 _Hermione: Sorry. Feel free to ignore completely_

Three times. Christ, this is worse than I thought. I wait several minutes, then don't bother looking back at my phone and focus on the beautiful and tragic relationship that is Damon and Elena.

 _Draco: Why would I ignore someone so plainly trying to get my attention?_

I sigh heavily, embarrassed. Definitely not answering that.

 _Draco: Why is it you want some attention? Hard day?_

Well that is definitely a loaded question. A text from Ginny comes through, and I have to decide which I would rather answer. Horrified with myself, I open Facebook and Draco's message.

 _Hermione: The hardest of all the days_

 _Draco: Want to talk about it?_

I ignore the message for another couple of minutes, watching Damon and Elena and biding my time to not look like such a weirdo.

 _Hermione: No, it's alright. Just another Thursday car-crash sort of day_

 _Hermione: It wasn't really bad, just had a lot going on_

Dammit. Stop sending two messages at once. I throw the phone to the other edge of the sofa and immerse myself back into the vampire world. Jeremy launches himself at Bonnie. Stefan drinks a little too much blood. Damon acts all hurt and wounded, so Elena will feel sympathy for him. Unconsciously, I find myself thinking of Draco Malfoy again. Crap. I refuse to be attracted to him. It's just my mind playing tricks on me.

It's just that this show is making me feel sentimental, and my phone buzzed a couple of minutes ago. The need to know what he said is just a little stronger at the moment. Goddammit.

 _Draco: What sort stuff goes on at a school on Thursday that is quite so mad?_

 _Draco: My Thursdays are perpetually mad – Board meetings, and the general weekend brawl begins_

 _Hermione: Weekend brawl?_

 _Draco: Everyone goes out from Thursday to Saturday, and come back more interesting on Monday_

 _Draco: Not me. I'm only a Friday-guy_

I roll my eyes.

 _Draco: You should come. You might have fun_

 _Hermione: Why?_

 _Draco: I'm inviting you_

What now? Go out drinking with Draco Malfoy? Is that really such a good idea? There's nowhere I need to be, so really the question is why not? There are many reasons as to why one would not go out drinking with Draco Malfoy. One, because I can be a lightweight after a long week of school. Two, because he might take advantage. Three, because I do not know anyone he will be going with.

But then, aren't strangers supposed to be really good for your character? They're supposed to be good for being yourself around people you want to be yourself around.

 _Draco: Stop freaking out. It's just alcohol with two or three others from my work. You don't even need to dress up. We just go to the local pub_

 _Hermione: Where is local for you?_

Is it really a good idea for me to go out drinking in a pub where I don't know the residents.

 _Draco: Are you trying to ask me where I live?_

 _Hermione: NO!_

 _Draco: Woooooah, chill out_

I can almost hear him laughing at me.

 _Draco: Really, you should come out with us. It'll be a good time, and definitely one you might need after a week that is potentially a car-crash in slow motion_

True, true.

 _Draco: They're nice people, Hermione_

Dammit. How dare he use my name.

 _Draco: Listen, I will send you the time, address, and my phone number. Let me know whether you decide to come_

 _Hermione: Okay_

Then Draco Malfoy sends me his phone number, with a smiley face, and ensues hope within me that maybe I don't have to romanticise some sort of meeting. That I can just be his friend, a non-romantic friend, and can hang out with him to purge my small attraction. Yeah, that sounds good.

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

**I'm so sorry for the delay in updates, but I have had this written since August, just no time to type it up properly and engage with the story again. Chapter 12 may also be hugely delayed, depending on how I delegate my time. But, just know, I'm not planning on giving up on this story. And it's going to take a while.**

 **And now: Draco and Hermione. Out drinking with his friends.**

 **0-0-0-0**

Friday evening and I am wandering the cold, cobbled streets of Norwich, my stomach churning with nerves. A small breeze brushes past me, causing gooseflesh to rise on my exposed forearms. Inside the jacket pocket, I grip hold of my mobile, half-praying for Draco to hurry up and text me back. Supposedly, this pub is just around the corner. But I am pretty certain I have taken seven corners at this point.

The Adam and Eve. The oldest and most famous pub in Norwich. Yet, in my almost twenty-five years of living, I have been there exactly three times, so am relying almost completely on Malfoy to direct me. And it's certainly further afield than I recall. Bloody Malfoy isn't even responding. This is a nearly new adventure for me, and my blonde ally is missing. The last time I was at this pub, I went with my mother to meet her childhood friend. The meeting didn't go well so we haven't been back.

I must be getting closer. Rowdy cheers are beginning to battle distance and the whistling wind. My phone buzzes, causing me to jump.

 _Draco: I'll come out to meet you. Hang on_

I roll my eyes. Thank God for that.

Silently refusing to text back, I continue along the barely-lit road, towards the noises. In the distance, a door bangs open, evidenced by the flood o yellow light cast onto the street. That must be it, right? In the glow from the open door, two strangers stumble out. One pats the other on the back. Unconsciously, I pause. The second stranger gives the first some words of encouragement and they shake hands.

"Hermione!" calls the voice of Draco Malfoy, the second stranger raising his arm in greeting. The tension in me rises again. Why the heck am I doing this? It's not as though Malfoy is a friend or anything. I met with him only a week ago. Because we connected, does that normally mean that we have to have an irrevocable friendship? _It's only drinks_. It is only drinks at a pub. It doesn't mean anything. "Hey, are you alright?"

He's dressed casually again. Smiling easily. They must have started drinking already.

"Good thanks, yourself?"

Smiling does not appear to be coming so naturally to me in this instant, especially as I am feeling the inclination to be quite violently sick all over the place from nerves. Meeting new people and all of that horrible stuff.

"Great!" He holds his arm out, gesturing for me to walk on ahead of him. "Everyone is excited to meet you." I flush in response, taken aback.

 _Who is everyone?_ And what if they hate me and it's a miserable evening?

"Don't worry, Granger," he says grinning at me as we walk closer to the lit garden of the pub. The use of my surname does nothing for the nerves. "They're old friends. You don't know them." I try smiling again. Slightly better. He pushes open the door for me, following me inside with a wink. My god, what have I gotten myself into?

The inside of the pub is blaring with music from a live band, packed into a tiny, orange-lit corner. Lanterns hang on the raw-brick walls, leaving much of the small room in shadow. Not that this isn't desirable in such a _watering hole_ , as my Dad used to call pubs. Malfoy smiles even broader – if possible – sniffing the alcohol-rent air. He taps me on the shoulder, pointing to a group of four others several metres away, hovering just shy of the bar.

"Miss Granger, this is everyone," Malfoy announces, sweeping an overly dramatic arm to the small group like some sort of show and tell. "Sally, Frederick, Johnny, and the insufferable Iago!" They all laugh at the introduction, the man at the end throwing his arms in the air in mock-complaint. I raise one hand in a wave. "Everyone, this is Miss Granger."

"That's not my name," _Iago_ protests, raising an eyebrow and grinning at Draco, who lifts his arms in surrender. Pretending to be innocent, the bastard. I almost achieve a smile. "I'm Callum," he introduces, moving to shake my hand. I accept, _isn't this a tad formal?_ "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger."

"Oh my God, don't call me that," I splutter in a laugh, unable to stop myself. "My kids call me that all day, five days a week."

"You've got kids?"

"She's a teacher," Draco interjects. "Drink, Hermione?"

"Whatever you're having," I reply, getting ready to settle into the evening. And not wanting to be judged. Draco glances at his friends, counting the empty glasses; three. For… Sally, Johnny, and Callum. He disappears to the bar then, thinking the orders over in his head. "Why Iago?"

"It's stupid," Callum tells me, grimacing.

"It's not! It's funny," Sally smiles, revealing dimples. "They did a production of Othello at the university. Being such a prat –"

"Method actor!" Callum interjects.

" _Method actor_ ," they all intone. I laugh.

"Being the _method actor_ , he insisted as being known as Iago for the duration of the period in which the play was showing," Sally finishes, grinning at her brunette friend.

"How long was that?"

"Seven months," Johnny answers, smirking. I gape. "Yeah, it was as bad as you're thinking." Callum shakes his head at them all. Even though he's short, he seems like a big character. "Nice to meet you. Draco's been blabbing about you all week."

"Doesn't sound like him," I laugh. That is very weird. Frederick smiles, quiet. Does he dislike me? Or is that normal for him? Just quietly drinking.

"How do you know Draco?" Johnny asks. "If you don't mind me asking."

"Um," I start with the useless discourse marker, glancing in my periphery for Draco. I need to be buzzed if we're going to have _that_ conversation. "I went to school with him. Hogwarts buddies, sort of." I laugh nervously, hoping to God that they don't ask about my house, or anything about our time at Hogwarts. I really don't want to be accidentally rude, or to place myself in an even weirder position, having been the target of his pre-teen and teenage animosity. "How about you guys?"

The distraction seems to work.

"Business school," Sally says first, showing her dimples again. She's cute, really. Short and spikey blonde hair, freckles, and bright blue lipstick. A bold velvet top.

"I was his dorm buddy," Callum tells me, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Family friend," Frederick announces, raising his glass in the pride of having known Draco Malfoy the longest. Even longer than I've known him, which is almost odd to think about. _I've known him for thirteen years_. I turn to Johnny.

"We used to work together."

"Used to?"

"His Dad got shot of me," Johnny shrugs. _Ouch._

"Your drinks, ladies and gentlemen!" Draco calls, balancing the five glasses expertly between his fingers. And coming back in perfect timing. I murmur my thanks as he points out each of our drinks. Sally takes the glass of white wine, Johnny the Guinness, and Callum a tall, iced cocktail. "Booth?" The others and I all cheer our assent, following him through the overcrowded room back to a comfy, worn-out table nearest one of the shadowed windows.

"Everything alright?" Malfoy asks me as his friends settle into the leather, shuffling to comfort zones. I nod and smile, sitting down beside Sally with Malfoy opposite us. Crammed in the middle, Johnny curses loudly as he collides with Callum, causing us to all laugh. "So, a good week in the end?"

"Not really," I say, hiding my mix of emotions with a large gulp of beer. I joke, "'Twas a bit shit."

"What happened?" Sally asks, setting her wine down. Crap, everyone is staring at me. "Kids being cruel."

"No," I laugh. "Teachers, actually. School politics; they're a nightmare."

"It's like everyone says, working at a school is like being back there," Frederick adds in wisely. I nod and shrug.

"I guess so. It's worse than Hogwarts though." At this, Draco glances away from me. "A lot of them are interested in their own game. They're not there to make friends."

"Sounds horrendous," Callum breathes, leaning closer across the table.

"It's really not," I argue, smiling. "Just this week was bad. I got made teacher of the year -"

"Congrats!" Sally shouts, raising her glass.

"Thanks," I laugh. "But it means that all of the sixty or so other teachers didn't get it," I explain. "Both good and bad for me." Sally frowns in disappointment.

"I always fancied teacher," Frederick admits, leaning back against the seat. "is it really as bad as everyone says? Do you like your job?"

I think about it for a moment. "No, I love my job. The kids are great, and it's super rewarding. I have other stuff I'm doing on the side, though, which reduces the crazy for definite."

"Do you have favourite kids? I bet _all_ teachers do," Callum says conspiratorially. I shake my head, laughing. "No way! I don't believe you!"

"Just because Callum here was obviously the devil child in the class and teachers hated him," Malfoy mutters, earning laughter from everyone.

"Some kids learn better in the school environment," I object, gulping at the beer again. Having studied _Theory of Learning_ and writing similar theses, this should totally be my jam to explain. "Everyone learns in different ways, and in totally different environments. There are no bad kids, just those who prefer the most-taught methods. So, I mix my methods up."

"Like what?"

"The stuff everyone theorises. A combination of group discussion, talking _at_ them, visual, practical," I finish. "All of the stuff."

"That's awesome," Frederick murmurs, looking avidly interested. "What else do you do? The other stuff."

"I'm a reader for a publishing company."

I get the words out quickly. They usually elicit a mixture of responses, from totally bored to manuscript presentations off the bat. Malfoy smiles at me, while the others exchange grins. What did I do?

"So, what do you all do?" I ask, eager to move the conversation away from me, and quickly. I turn to Sally first.

"I own a business," she says casually. My mouth falls open. Shit. And I was talking about _teaching_. "I make mostly lipstick, but I'm branching out into other stuff more recently. This is mine." She points to her lips.

"Fantastic pigmenting," I murmur, completely amazed.

"Thanks," she laughs. "But Draco is the big business tycoon here." He raises his hands in mock celebration, looking vaguely disinterested in the fact. I'll have to ask him about that. Maybe he had a bad week too. "His father's big-ass company, you know?" I nod. Draco rolls his eyes.

"I work in retail," Callum shrugs. "Menswear at Debenhams, but I also take photographs."

"He's playing it down," Draco smiles, nudging his friends conspiratorially.

"He's really good," Johnny adds.

"Yeah… Maybe. But Johnny's in computer science! Isn't that cool!" Callum tries the distractive technique, causing us all to laugh at his antics.

"No, I'm not," Johnny laughs, playing with his glass. "You're such an idiot."

"What do you do?" Callum asks.

"I'm in corporate law," he tells me, grinning at his smaller friend. Callum rolls his eyes, trying to get Johnny's attention in vain. "Draco, you're on the end. Your own fault." He taps his glass meaningfully. Empty. I glance down at my own. _Damn_. How did that happen?

"Who wants what?" Malfoy asks, raising a pale eyebrow and smirking.

Ten short minutes later, we've argued through the options, and Sally is pushing me out of the booth to help Draco, both of us grinning like the buzzed fools we are. We wander casually to the bar in silence, arms brushing accidentally three times against each other. I notice because I feel the electricity that passes through us, as cliché as that may seem.

"Are you having a good time?" he asks, orders placed at the bar, one arm leaning against a spare stool. He doesn't look in my direction, but watches the bartender pour out the first pint. I nod.

"Yeah, your friends are great." He smiles in response.

The minutes and hours blur together after that. Three or four more rounds pass – I barely think of them with gaps in between – without much notice, and I'm joking and laughing more than I have done in a long time. And it's severely wonderful. I chat amiably to the others, uncovering that Frederick is actually a surgeon and his quietness is a mixture of seriousness and tiredness. However, he assures me that he can be fun. Callum finally gives in and shows us a small collection of photographs. In all honesty, they're astounding. I make sure to tell him that, to which he flushes with gratitude. Malfoy is just as normal and friendly as the rest of them. We all shuffle spaces as others crawl over laps and under the table to fetch the next round. Sitting between Sally and Frederick, Malfoy having disappeared with Johnny and Callum for drinks and a rowdy game of darts, Frederick reveals something drastic.

"Be careful. He's going through a weird time."

"What do you mean?" I ask, concerned. He doesn't look too bad. Sally leans her head on my shoulder – I'm accepting of her uninhibited contact now.

"Talk to him about it. I'm just saying it because he likes you. Or, at least, he should," he laughs, quietly to himself. "I know who you are." My head snaps up to look at him. "Come on, I've been Draco's best friend for twenty-something years. We tell each other everything."

"Okay." I swallow thickly. Not that I should be nervous.

"You could be really good for him."

I'm not sure how to respond to this, so turn to watch Draco laughing freely as he throws poorly. Frederick doesn't say anything for the next few minutes, having done the friendship thing. Sally sits up straighter, tugging her hair in boredom. She looks tired. Maybe not bored after all. I smile gently at her, playing with the corners on a worn-out coaster.

"Sorry," Frederick murmurs when Sally gets up to leave. "I'm a bit intense."

I laugh lightly. "You're fine." But then I pause. "Let's just say that Draco might be good for me, and I might be good for him, or whatever. But right now, I just want to be a friend."

Frederick accepts that, and we join the others at the dart board.

The crowds greatly diminished, the pub seems halfway empty by the time we're stepping out into the gone-midnight cold air. Sally dons a thick woollen scarf, and I shove on my old and faithful duffel coat. The guys go without jackets. Sally walks beside Frederick, softly singing a tune I've never heard, and wrapping an arm around his thin shoulders. Callum piggybacks on an enthused and probably very inebriated Draco. Johnny tails behind with me, telling me some fantastic stories about what sounds like a riotous childhood.

My mind is flooded with euphoria and the familiar buzz of alcohol. I'm not too drunk. Sober enough to have conscious thought. But I don't feel the near-constant weight of stress I have been experiencing. I don't feel uncomfortably tired. I feel good. Draco's friends are good people.

It takes us only twenty short minutes to stumble through the streets lit by yellow lamps and the flaring car headlights. Finally, we're at Exchange Street, hauling our tired and humming bodies into taxis and saying farewell. Sally takes my hand and a pen, telling me,

"Text me."

Then she kisses me on the cheek and goes to say goodbye to Draco. Her phone number is scrawled across the back of my hand. Smiling, I glance around at the group, decidedly sad to see them go. Such a wonderful time. Except that thing with Draco, and Frederick saying that something is going on with him, and that I should find out. Which this thought perplexes me, Sally shouts out several goodbyes, earning her hollers from Callum, who drags Johnny into a taxi, falling and giggling.

"Make sure she gets home safe," Frederick tells Draco, giving me half a hug and slapping Malfoy on the shoulder. Draco nods and watches him and Sally carefully step into a separate taxi. When the others have left, we wait only a few minutes before another pulls up and we can clamber inside.

"Seatbelt," he reminds me, having told the cabbie where I live. I drag down the click and press it into the blurry, red blotch that must be the right thing. It doesn't click, though. Malfoy sighs and smirks. "Give it here." His hand brushes against my hip, causing me to jolt. He pretends not to notice and clicks his own belt into place.

I watch the yellow and white lights pass from beyond the misted windows, my mind still a little too fuzzy to contemplate much.

"Your friends are great," I say as we pull out onto a roundabout, swerving casually to one side. He smiles in response. "I'm not really sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't that." Malfoy doesn't say a word back, causing me to frown. "Are you okay?" He glances sideways, as if having forgotten that I'm here.

"Oh, yeah. Fine." He returns to neutral.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, definitely."

"What's going on, Draco?"

"What do you mean?"

"Everything is great, we're all having fun. But as soon as you leave your friends, you're completely different," I reply, hating the accusatory tone in my voice. Malfoy blanches, leaning back against the material of the taxi.

"I've just got a lot on my mind."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he says, exasperated. "Work. Life. Everything. Everything."

We sit quietly for another couple of minutes until I am practically unable to contain myself.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Malfoy doesn't respond. I take it that this is a way to say that he wants to avoid the topic altogether. Fair enough. But I only want to help. It's not a matter of gossip or wanting to know for any other circumstances than his wellbeing – an uncommon thing for Malfoy and me. For some godforsaken reason, it bothers me that there is clearly something more going on, something he hasn't said.

"Right here," Malfoy tells the driver, as the cab travels down my road. "All the way to the end." He turns to me; the taxi having stopped. I pull out my purse, but he halts my hands, placing his on top. "I got it. Look, I'm really glad you had fun tonight. You needed it. And I'm sorry for being all mopey."

"Do you want to come inside for a cup of tea?" I offer. "And actually, talk about what's on your mind?" He looks for a second as though he will object. "Come on Draco, please. I'm not leaving you sour tonight."

He smiles half-heartedly, and I know it's some level of agreement.

"Okay."

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**How long is between updates? I'm gonna guess that 364 days is too long. Am I right? I'm going to make one of those promises again and say that I am planning chapters now, and I fully intend to write more of this and get to somewhere resembling a plot or structure. Just know that I have the ideas, and I have the time, and I refuse to let this story sink into nothingness.**

 **For now, I really hope you enjoy the chapter!**

 **0-0-0-0**

I can instantly tell I'm trying to act sober. Vaguely stumbling to the door, trying to focus on one thing at a time. I figure this must be what Draco needs - a sober conversation about things he is thinking and feeling. It feels like a serious conversation, and I need to be at least a little bit awake for it. Hopefully the cup of tea will help in that area of things. And maybe that's why he even agreed to coming inside. It's almost a strange concept, Draco Malfoy coming back to my house after a night out. But he's been here before, as he reminds me with a casual comment about the change of mirror on the wall as walk inside. Things feel different this time around, though. Delicate, somehow. Fragile.

He kicks off his shoes and wanders through to the utility room where we store them. He waits while I fill the kettle, and we go into the lounge together. Though it is strange Malfoy being in my home, it is perhaps stranger that he should look so comfortable there. And stranger even that I see a warning sign from him. A swipe of his hand over his face, a momentary closing of eyes to relieve tension from his own thoughts. I leave a healthy amount of space between us on the sofa, for some reason hoping to be close and simultaneously not overpower him.

It's horribly difficult to not acknowledge the sudden spark of attraction I feel towards him - because why the hell should I be attracted to him in such a situation?

"Why are we doing this?" Malfoy asks, voice muffled by his hand.

"Having a cup of tea?"

He sits up, half smiling. "This." Draco gestures between us, as if that explains everything or anything. "I'm not a project. I'm not sad - someone you can fix. I can't, we can't, do that."

"I never said you were a project," I reply, frowning. _That hurts_. "I didn't invite you inside for you to be a project, Draco. I would actually call you a friend, and you... Look, I would never suggest... I invited you inside for a cup of tea and a good chat. I've had a long week and I certainly do not want to end it having a pity party with you."

The moment the words spill from my lips, I realise they weren't as kind as I intended them to be. Emphasised by Malfoy's icy expression.

" _Ouch_."

"I didn't -"

Before I can even begin to explain, he is standing and heading into the kitchen where we can both hear the kettle boiling noisily away. I'm not going to follow him, because why would I say something so thoughtless? Something so heartless? I just made it sound like I didn't want to spend time with him, and that he was somewhat depressing to be around. Neither of which is true. _Why do I even speak at all?_ The only excuse I can give is that I don't want to sink back into myself for another evening, especially given I have had such a nice time tonight. I don't want to waste the euphoria.

Is that awfully selfish?

The room blurs around me for a second of brief and unexplainable panic. My chest aches, my hands tense. I try to focus on one thing, but not for the fear of drunkenness this time. My wallpaper attracts my attention, flourishing, blossom patterns contrasting the bold yellow of the other three walls. I trace the flowers with my eyes, pushing away the fears of selfishness, and the fear of feelings I may or may not have for him. I can't feel those things, because I just can't. It's been too soon. It would be ridiculous for me to care for him so quickly? To want to know so much more about him than I have ever wanted to know about a person before?

Malfoy sidles back into the room, carefully carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He hands me the pale blue mug and keeps the purple for himself.

"I don't want you to feel sorry for me," he starts, confronting the issue as soon as he settles beside me again. "I don't want you to treat me like I'm damaged, because I'm not. It's been a bit difficult as of late, and people have difficult times. It's no more complicated than that."

"Okay," I murmur, nodding. "We're good."

He breathes a heavy sigh of relief and seems to deflate. And we can finally talk.

"So, tell me what's going on then?" I ask.

"My father." He sips at his tea and continues. "I know Freddie mentioned that I'm having a weird time of things lately - I didn't mean to overhear. Hearing someone else say it is so strange and I think maybe felt like a catalyst. Crap, my words are so jumbled, sorry."

"What do you mean, sorry?"

Draco leans back, biding his time.

"I mentioned it at the wedding, but my father has just come out of hospital. Liver cancer, but please let's not get into that." He pauses as though the words are a struggle, and I can't imagine anything different. If my parents were in danger or ill, I wouldn't know what to think or even understand where I was in the world. "But he's been back in the office a few times since returning home, wanting to get away from my mother I think." It feels inappropriate to laugh, so I simply smile politely. "You know when people are a awful back-seat drivers?"

"My father was never especially great at driving, and he still gave me tips," I offer.

He nods. "Exactly. When he was CEO, he might have run the company a little differently, but I'm in charge now. Right?" I agree. "Yet, he comes back in as if he knows exactly what has been going on since he has been on leave. He tries to take over in every instance he can get his hands on, because the company is _Malfoy_. Which sucks."

"Do you wish you didn't work for the family?"

"Yes and no..." he muses. "I love the job - well, I don't hate it. Which is why the comment bothered me so much. But I really do dislike the position I'm in whether my father decides to come back in and change all the good I've done." Malfoy sighs. "When those moments come, there is potential to hate it so much."

We pause for just a second, pontificating. "Because it's not yours?" I suggest.

"I want to feel like the company is mine, without it being mine just because I'm a Malfoy."

"That's fair." He smiles, half-convincingly.

"It's silly, I think. I should feel more grateful."

"Since joining the company fully, do you feel you've earned your right to stay?"

He pauses in thinking, and then he really smiles. "Yes."

"Well there we are then. If you think that, then everyone else should really think the same. You seem like you'd be a decent enough boss. And, from what I hear, the company has never had such clear goals in its path. You're doing well. And it's frustrating if no one has told you that recently."

"They haven't, so thank you."

I smile at him, a warmth filling me at the idea that he is feeling more appreciated. God, I sound so ridiculously sappy.

"What else is going on then?" I ask. He raises an eyebrow. _Boys are so difficult to work with._ "You said everything was poor, and sounded pretty fed up with the entirety of life. As far as I know, your father is only one part of your life. Hopefully not the main part of your life, as well."

"Very astute, Granger," Draco laughs. He's laughing, but I see that other thing in his eyes. That tiredness, the losing of a thread he has held onto. All this in the dark grey eyes that stare back at me from what feels like a thousand miles. I will him to speak to me, to let me in just a little bit more than he has done. Even if it is only a singular time he does so. "My parents are a big part of things. The only reason they're still together is financial support, now. My mother doesn't want my father to suffer, what with the cancer."

"I thought he was out of hospital? All better?"

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. "Terminal. He'll be admitted again when it's his time to pass."

My stomach seems to drop about fifty feet below the deepest chasm in the ocean. Jesus Christ. So calmly said. And yet. Fuck. Maybe this is too much for us to handle right now. We've only just become friends, really. And I know my attraction to him doesn't allow me access to his deepest thoughts. There aren't enough words in the world's dictionary for me to express what he must be feeling.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, unable to speak any louder.

"Not your fault." Draco reaches across and squeezes my hand. It feels wrong that he should be offering me reassurance, but here we are. I squeeze back, trying to comfort however I can. "It's just been strange lately. It's like we're living in some kind of liminal space. I'm living so many different personalities and lives, it's completely exhausting. I forget who I am, or what I'm doing sometimes. And I blank out."

"When I flip between jobs, I feel like that. Like I'm doing half of both." My mind flickers back to one particular night two weeks ago when I was stuck between marking and reading a script, both of which needed attention. Existential crisis prevailed and I ended up drinking wine, watching Doctor Who to steer clear of questioning my life choices going in no particular direction.

"And I seem to face problems, in whichever place I am," Draco continues. "At work, it's stressful every day and my father being there has not helped in my efforts to make things better. Home is particularly bad. Tensions high, parents forcing time apart to make certain they remain civil. Friends are good, but it's tough with them. They know me, they know things aren't quite right."

"What's wrong with that?" I ask.

"I don't like people thinking something is wrong with me." His tone is cooler, but I understand why. He doesn't want the trouble of people believing he is not doing as well as he is. Emotionally and otherwise. "I don't want to bring down their evenings with my shit as well. They're lively, brilliant people."

"You know, I really don't think they'd mind. They clearly love you very much."

Draco simply nods, pressing the mug of tea to his lips, not committing to drinking or not drinking. Then, bursting into the humming quiet,

"Tell me, Hermione, if you could only read three books for the rest of your life, which books would you read?"

We talk like this for a while, in the comfort of warm darkness and our soon-cold-and-forgotten mugs of tea. Eventually, we are both warming, and he agrees to sleep on the sofa because I refuse to allow him to get a taxi back this late on a Friday. He calls me ridiculous, but concedes anyway. We set out the pillows and the blanket together in the glimmering blue moonlight streaming through the open curtains. And he smiles at me as though I really am worth talking to.

…

Morning rolls around swiftly, too soon, light burning into the room like a solar flare across my vision. Memories whirl through my mind of the night before. The legendary friends of Draco Malfoy, and the late-night cup of tea that resulted in him staying the night on the sofa downstairs. God, I wonder what he's thinking now. Whether he remembers where he is. I mean, surely he does, right? Why would you forget? _Says the girl who still has no idea what happened on the 14th July 2014, but knows that she drank more than three times the legal limit._

Yeah, and I'm the responsible teacher.

I swig some mouthwash, don my dressing gown and wander downstairs to see the damage. Draco is already awake, blanket folded on the seat beside him, his hair in complete disarray. It makes me laugh.

"Morning," he grins, yawning widely.

"Sleep alright?"

"Out like a light."

"Good, I guess."

"Do you have some toothpaste I can borrow? I hate going without it," Draco asks, running his tongue over his teeth.

"Yeah, I've probably even got a fresh toothbrush you can use," I laugh.

Draco Malfoy leaves my home with a smile plastered onto his face, walking towards a bus stop where he hopes he can find a way into the city and eventually wind his way home. My heart thumps in my chest watching him walk away, shirt crumpled from the nights sleep, blonde hair nothing short of untidy. I can't stop the feeling from spreading through my gut and into my limbs. I can't stop feeling drawn to him. I can't stop feeling connected to him, somehow. My chest aches and my fingers tingle.

Fuck.

George's text is the thing which breaks my focus: _Are we still meeting at 2pm?_

I suppose I ought to be preparing for the madness of lunch with the twins.

…

Four days later and I haven't heard a thing from Draco - not that I should expect to. He's busy, I'm busy, and we left things in a weird place, I think. Him walking away from my home, me staring after him like an idiot, lost puppy. And yet he's been occupying my thoughts. George noted on Saturday that I looked knackered and completely out of things, but I didn't mention going out with Malfoy and friends. The kids are in exam season, but I keep forgetting to check my emails - which is something I absolutely need to be doing. Plus, there's a manuscript lying on my desk at home that is due next Friday, with nothing read of it so far. By now, I would be at least halfway through it.

Yet, here I am, manuscript lying at home, outside my parent's house. My father should have gotten home from Cornwall today, and he has done successfully as evidenced by his car parked beside my mother's in the driveway. Moonlight glimmers back from the windows of the parked cars, stretching out between shadows, filling the blackness with something other than nothing.

The door sticks as I unlock it, as it has done all the time I have known it.

"Hermione dear, is that you?" My mother's voice resonates through the walls of cracking paint and old photographs. At my assent, she pokes her head around the corner to see me slipping off my converse and shucking my jacket. "Come on, your father is waiting!"

"Old man, are you in here somewhere?" I call, grinning.

"Oi!" he laughs, standing unsteadily from his corner chair. "Yeah, Hermione, I'm here."

"How was Cornwall?"

"It was alright thank you. Plenty to do in very little time, but it was good to see your aunt looking so well. She was asking after you." He smiles at the memory. "At least she knows she's kooky now."

"Best way to be," I say.

"And how is my favourite daughter? Working hard, I gather?" he asks.

I nod in reply. "Always. The kids are doing amazing. The books are pretty good. Someone ought to give me a raise sometime soon." At this, my father laughs, though not unkindly. "There was this one kid on Monday though. You would have loved it…"

My father and I talk around work and boys and life for another half an hour before mum calls for dinner. She puts out a delicious spread, a smorgasbord if you will. Anything goes with jacket potatoes and she is legendary for such a wondrous delicacy. Baked spuds, chilli con carne - low fat, for my father's health especially - coleslaw, hummus, crisps, bread, butter, salsa, cheese, and everything else under the sun that I could have imagined for such a splendid meal. She really outdid herself.

"You know, Hermione, the wedding photos did look wonderful," my mother says, spooning a lump of hummus onto her already full plate. "Was it really as magical as everyone was saying? I spoke to Ginny's mother, Molly. She was telling me all about the lights, and how lovely the ceremony was."

"Yeah, it was really nice," I reply, smiling. It was. I'm not sad about it. "I had a good time."

"Molly also said something about you might have met somewhere there," she prompts further. Instantly, I understand what has happened. Molly has clearly told my mother about the goings on with Draco, and in a little more detail than I provided her last time I was here.

"You met someone? A boy?" Dad asks, setting down his cutlery in a fashion that makes me think I am about to be interviewed for some kind of job.

"I danced with Draco Malfoy, that's all," I say. My mother has raised her eyebrows, but I know that she knows what happened. That I crept outside with him and spent the entire evening with him. And that he drove me back home. Maybe she even knows that I went out with him last week. My mother does tend to possess the quality of attaining knowledge with considerable speed.

"Do we know him?" my father asks my mother. I can't help but grin.

"He's a friend from school, Dad."

"Have you got a photo of him?"

I nod. "Sure. I'll just grab my phone."

For a moment, I am certain that my mother will bring out the old rule: no electronics at the table. But she doesn't; she stays quiet, and she waits for me to leave the table and return.

Two notifications on my phone. A text from Draco and an instagram message from Ginny. Presumably something about their honeymoon. From Draco, I don't know. I'll look at it later. In the pit of my stomach is an odd sensation settling there. It's not that I miss him exactly. I just sort of crave his presence. Is that strange? Unexpected might be the better word for it. Unexpected, but perhaps not really all that surprising.

"Here," I say, handing my phone over to my father. He puts on his reading glasses and peers at the screen. It's lit up with something that was posted on Facebook a couple of months ago by one of his friends - Johnny. The two of them in suits, at some event or something.

"That blond one?"

"That's him."

My father hums, skeptical. "The one who _tormented_ you."

"Except he's nice now."

There are several long moments of pregnant pause.

"Dad, tell me about your trip. What did you get up to?"

Just like this, the evening is kicked back into gear. My Dad tells me about their trips to the beach, even in the rain. Walks with the dogs. Painful joints and the horrors of growing old. He talks about the fresh air and the countryside, the glorious landscape beyond what flat Norfolk has to offer. In turn, he asks about school, and about my friends. We all three reminisce about earlier days - the way things were when we were younger, and how we predict education and the lives of kids are going to change in the future.

It's wonderfully pleasant. Late that evening, when I leave, the air is blissful and temperate. As if a calm has fallen over the world for just a little while. Honestly, I'm not going to complain about that.

I don't check the text from Draco, nor Ginny's message. I don't open my laptop, or break out a book. Instead, a hot water bottle and a mug of decaffeinated tea sends me straight to sleep.

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hi again! Here's another chapter (I know, _a year has not passed_ between updates). I'm getting back into the swing of this story and hopefully we can make some good progress. Drop me a review and let me know what you think. Draco will be back next chapter, and Bill is also returning soon! Stay tuned.**

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Thursday passes in a total blur, with exams coming all too soon on Monday. On Wednesday, Draco had text me, asking if I would be available at the weekend, but I had to decline, much to my displeasure. I don't know how I feel about him asking for my availability yet, but I kind of like that he seems to feel the same way about me. Not that it's romantic, but that we are comfortable with each other and want to spend time together. It's nice. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Ginny sent me a message too - Instagram, though. It's a photo of the two of them - her and Harry - dressed in safari garb. They both looked overheated, but extremely happy, which will always be nice to see. The caption below the photo reads: _only two weeks left! Missing you all, but this is pretty great too ;)._

Ah Ginny. Modesty is _so_ not her thing.

I reply that I miss her too, even so. Because I do. It's been wildly strange without having her around. I can't blab to her about Draco because a) she's not here, and b) it would be so weird to admit to my long-time-best-friend that the guy I am crushing on is an ex-bully, and her husband's peculiar friend. And when I say peculiar I mean both that Draco is peculiar, and that their friendship is so as well. So, who am I supposed to talk to about all of this Draco stuff? Not that there's a huge amount to talk about. I mean, I can probably wait another two weeks before Ginny gets back and then _maybe_ have the conversation with her then. Or maybe I will just never talk to her about it, she will never know, and Malfoy and I can drift apart as temporary friends. Though I am pretty sure he has complimented me a bunch of times - enough to make me suspicious of his intentions.

Anyway, I sent Ginny the message along with a photo of the drizzling rain outside my window at that time. She seems to find it amusing, which is nice I guess. After that, the week is all smooth-sailing. Kinda.

Exam-prep is near-enough hellish; at least, it was yesterday. The kids are demanding me for questions during every hour of the day. When I got home last night, I ended up reading more questions than I took in class. And it's fine, because this is what I signed up for. I signed up for students, and exams, and marking. And when I took the second job, I signed up for balancing out the two jobs and trying to balance out my sanity with that. I bargained away what should have been left of my life, and that's totally okay, because I'm doing two things that I really love and cherish. I wouldn't give up either one of them for the other, and I think that's how things will always be.

And now today is Friday. The last day of the week before the weekend before their first exam. Although every exam is a big one, this is a _big one_. It's the literature paper, which means essay questions. It's the one that most students are the most worried about and understandably so. Even being as talented as I was with literature in my youth, I was eternally terrified of screwing up an exam like this one. No doubt my students are going to be just as worried. The ones who care, anyway.

All I can say is that I'm glad I'm not late to work. It's a blessing that I live about eight minutes walk from the school - and also a curse (you know, I end up seeing students a lot of the time).

"Hermione!" Sammy calls across the car park to me. "Shit, sorry, Miss Granger! Ah who cares." I laugh and walk over to her. "I have a question for you. How the heck do you deal with the students emailing in at like 2am?"

"I was asleep by then last night, so I'm not sure," I reply, grinning at her. Sammy rolls her eyes. "You don't need to reply immediately. It's their fault for not doing work at an appropriate time."

"And what if it's my fault for not teaching them properly?"

"If anyone, it's the fault of the faculty for giving a GCSE class to an NQT - no offence."

"None taken," she says. Together, we walk into the main school. Friday is a little more lax here, thank god, so no staff meeting today. Just a butt-load of students being allowed into the classrooms early, and a hefty start to my day. I have three classes in a row, without a break. Lord knows the students won't let me have a proper break when it's supposed to be my time to rest. "I think it's wack too. So do the kids - because some of them have siblings who are older than me, and that's straight-up awkward."

Sammy and I part ways when we reach the front of the school after we agree to meet for lunch. In a turn of events, she gives me tips on doing a class speech about preparing for exams, since she had to do a talk to her students on Wednesday last week. Physics exams often fall before English ones, so she's in a slightly more neurotic position than I am. But she's also totally right about the age in teachers nowadays. I'm twenty-four, which is still almost ten years older than most of my students, but there's that lingering thought. I still remember my high school days quite vividly. Does that mean I'm better or worse for it?

I manage to sit down and breathe for about ten minutes when inside my classroom. I set out my things on my desk - water bottle, laptop, reading book, and stack of notes - and switch on the computer desktop. The room lights up with the projector display and fills with the incessant humming of technology as it turns itself on. It's not long before the students begin to filter in as their parents drop them off or otherwise. The last group of them are those who arrive from neighbouring villages in several coaches. Finally, the room is filled and it appears that I have got almost no work done. Other than some printing of exam-style questions, there wasn't much anyway. But I'm too nervous to feel anything similar to accomplished.

"Morning, everyone." I greet them with an equally nervous smile. Fortunately, they're all still too tired to register my qualms. "I'll just take the register, then you can get on with your own stuff. Any questions," I pause, my eye catching on a student raising their hand at the back, "can wait until the register is done." She nods in recognition.

I call out their names on by one. Two absences, both usual suspects. Jess Lipton - who I know is a smoker along with her mother - and Harry Denver - a truant by nature. As expected, by the end of the register, four students are moving to speak to me at the front of the classroom. I brace myself.

"Will you read my essay?" Tina asks first, the girl who stuck her hand up earlier. "It's only three pages. Please."

"Of course, I can do," I reply. "Come back at breaktime to get it and we can talk through it as well if you want."

She smiles. "That would be really good thank you." And then she disappears to the back of my classroom and hides behind a book. I can't tell if I see a lot of myself in her or not.

George Roe steps up second. He's scruffy, a class-joker, and pretty intelligent from what I've seen. He just absolutely does not like to display it in any manner. I smile at him nonetheless. He's a bright kid.

"George," I say.

"Miss Granger." He chews on his bottom lip, deliberating his question. "Will you sign my report card? I have to hand it in to Bens today." George removes a folded up piece of paper from his pocket and produces a pen also. I notice that his hands are shaking ever so slightly and wonder why. "My mum says that I should ask you questions about the exam in form, but we have class later so I can ask then. Right?"

"Right you are," I reply, signing his report card. It's this thing that we have in this school that I kind of dislike. If admins are doing their job, then students wouldn't need to carry about this paper-shame between their fingers. Look at George here, for instance. Bright kid, brought down a level purely for the fact that he carries around a slip of paper that announces him to be a nuisance. It's utter bollocks. "You know, you can ask me questions any time you like. Drop me an email over the weekend if you get stuck too."

George smiles. "Thanks, Miss."

A couple of other students approach me during form time, but soon enough they are all leaving for class, gossip filling their conversations and worry filling their minds. Yeah, I'm not sure whether I want them to be worried or not. But I know I certainly wish my weekend plans were a little more juicy than exam prep and trying to get through a manuscript (I am pretty sure I'm behind the deadlines on that). Do I wish I was seeing Draco? Maybe. Maybe.

Already exhausted by 9:15, I can tell that the rest of the day is going to be just as fun.

My third period class are getting on in silence when Mr Bens himself walks into the room for an inspection (yet another thing I dislike about the school system). One or two students look up and then get back to their work. He gestures to me from across the room. Great. Private conversation with the Headmaster. Always good.

I check on the students as I walk across the room. No one is messing around, so they should be fine for a minute or two.

Who am I kidding. They're thirteen-year-olds. They'll piss about as soon as I leave the room. But that's fine.

"Miss Granger," Mr Bens says as soon as the door closes behind me. "There were a few things I wanted to talk to you about. Would you mind stopping in at my office over lunch?"

My stomach sinks. "Unfortunately, I can't. I'm trying to make myself available for students to bring questions to me over the break. Sammy and I were going to eat in my room." He nods. "Is there something on your mind? We can discuss it briefly now?"

"Yes, well I need some assistance with the budget. Claire said that you had some financial business experience and I thought you might be able to help." Mr Bens tightens the paisley tie around his neck in nervousness. "And the trip proposals too. I'll need you to review those again with the amendments made by the Board so that they are applicable with the course."

"Were there a lot of drastic changes made to the trips?" I ask.

"Just a few small things that needed clarity," Mr Bens replies, smiling awkwardly. For good reason, too. This is a lot to ask of me.

"And someone more senior can't do it? I'm only a Junior Teacher; I'm not sure I'm qualified."

"You are the most organised woman I've even met and you're an excellent teacher. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job," Mr Bens tells me. Damn. "I'll have the paperwork in my office for whenever you want to come by. It needs to be done as soon as possible. So in any free moments you have."

Because I so clearly have an abundance of those.

But Bens is already walking away and thanking me. I can't escape the feeling that he was just pushing his work onto me and was afraid to do for him. Crap for me. That's something else to add to the ever-growing to-do list that has become my life. Even if I had wanted to meet with Draco this weekend, now there is no way that that's going to happen. Too damn busy.

As predicted, the class has been raucous in my absence, but I almost don't mind. We fly through the creative writing activity and also the workshop on grammar. They leave quickly with thanks and grins.

"That fucktard is getting you to do his work?" Sammy demands, ten minutes later, half-eaten sandwich in one hand. I nod in reply, my mouth filled with pasta. "That's beyond irritating."

"Tell me about it," I mutter. I swallow my food. "Sammy, if you liked a guy but you thought he might be bad for you, what would you do?"

She raises an eyebrow. "I'd date him. But that's me."

"And if you thought he would be really good for you?"

"I guess the same," she says, shrugging. "I like a bad boy. But I don't know. Why?"

"Hypothetical, that's all," I reply.

The thing is, I don't really know what Draco Malfoy would be. From the wedding, I vaguely recall Harry saying that we would be good together. But there's all that history and all that prejudice - on both sides. I guess the wedding should have shown me how people react to him now. He got on well with Fred and George, and he has a weird friendship with Harry. Even Ginny tolerated him. The only person who had a serious problem with him was Ron, and Ron has a problem with everyone.

Draco Malfoy as bad for me. There's the Slytherin-Gryffindor rivalry of our previous days. He bullied me. But that's long in the past, really. His life is very different from mine - all stars and exoticism, and not the life of a teacher and her Northern parents. He's confident and cocky and sarcastic. I'm strong, but I'm a different kind of strong to him. The question is just whether that makes us incompatible.

Draco Malfoy as good for me. He was nice. He invited me out with his friends and shared his secrets with me. He apologised for everything that happened in our school years, several times over. We get along well and have fun together. Our sense of humour could be aligned, but this of course only depends on what I've seen so far.

In conclusion, I really don't know. As much as I love Sammy, this isn't a conversation I'm ready to have yet, and not quite with her. There must be someone else.

When Sammy leaves to set up for class, I skim through my contacts list and find Bill Weasley like a saving grace somewhere near the top. Seeing his name, I instantly know it's him I want to talk to. Which, I know, sounds odd. I want to talk to my ex-boyfriend's brother about a potential new boyfriend. Not weird at all.

And not that I'm thinking of Malfoy as a boyfriend. I just… I need some confirmation that it would be okay if I fell for him. Even just a little.

At the very end of the day, one of the examiners brings me a stack of papers to mark. Mocks from the Year 10s. I don't have any Year 10s this year, but the whole department has to share the marking. So that's another thing I'm piling onto my already hectic weekend. Hurray for me and my suddenly drastically nightmarish life.

I compose a text on my way to pick up the budget file.

 _Hey Bill - I know you're in Egypt right now, but I'm hoping we can meet up soon. Got a dilemma. Also, I want to see you again and catch up some more. Wedding chatter was brief, no? Drop me a text when you're about_

Then, I walk home for the day.

I receive a few more essay plans and questions before the day is over. Little things about themes in Macbeth (power being the obvious one), and how to make sure students can score highly on the little questions as well as the huge essays. They have the Lit and Lang exam in two weeks' time so there's space to think about all of that.

Dinner is quick and easy. Chicken and polenta with sweet potato mash. It's an old favourite of mine, and certainly can get fancier if I wanted. Not tonight, though. For a moment, I wonder about cracking open a bottle of wine, but I know that it would be wasted. Instead, I settle down at the dinner table and listen to my own thoughts for a while. It's odd living alone sometimes, though there is not quite the tendency to be lonely. You get used to the space and having to occupy it by yourself.

After dinner, I mark six mock papers and vaguely stare in the direction of the budget file. Something for tomorrow, perhaps. Not tonight. It's just too big of a task to leave for the evening of a stressful day - it requires thinking. Not that I don't think while marking papers, but that's more methodical. People say that English is indicative, but it's even more simple than that.

It's sensical.

On Saturday, I write a game-plan for Monday, then I write two lesson-plans for my Year 8 group on Monday afternoon and the Year 9s on Wednesday. With lunch out of the way, I admit defeat to my productive procrastination and pull out the budget file with a heavy sigh. I even check my phone for a reply from Draco in my hope for distraction. No such luck. His absence is severely noted, more so than it would have been otherwise.

I'm not one to shy away from work, but I just… Don't want to. I shouldn't be doing this budget, and I should not be looking over the trip proposals either. That's not my job. There are many other senior teachers at that school.

 _So_ not my job.

Halfway through the budget, I stop for another slice of toast and a banana. It's incredibly boring.

Ginny sends me another message on Instagram, which I reply to instantly.

 _Everything alright back in not-so-sunny Norfolk? We miss you xxx_

 _Everything is good thanks Gin, just BORED today! Hope you're having an amazing time_

Saturday doesn't really get any better. Sunday isn't much different, except for Draco sending me another text.

 _First exam tomorrow, right? We could celebrate?_

I try to retain some of my commonsense and leave it until the end of the day to confirm that I would like that very much. I'm smiling all the way into my dreams and, when I wake up, it's with a sweet disposition and a good level of confidence. Exam day. The most horrifying day of the year, especially with me doing the introductory talk this year. As a teacher, talking to students is not something you should be afraid of, but it's wildly terrifying either way. That is, until I'm standing in front of them and they're all looking up at me with that same fear in my eyes. Suddenly, I understand. Don't make them afraid.

"Morning everyone," I say to them, with an adequate, quaking response. "Big day, today. But I'm not worried. You're all going to be amazing. You are so prepared - from all the work we've been doing in class, to any of the prep you've done at home and in your free time." I take a breath, swallow, and start up again. Christine Byrne is looking at me with slight derision, but hopefully that means I'm amusing.

"So make sure you are the most prepared you can be right now - not in terms of notes, Amy." The students laugh as one of the girls grins up at me from her huge mindmap. "I mean mentally prepared. Put yourself in your happy place, where you are going to absolutely damn crush this exam." Some of them are nodding at their friends. Good. _Time to bring it home._

"Let's give yourselves all a big round of applause, and then - then, we smash it."

A little brighter-eyed, the students start clapping and whooping and honestly it feels intensely gratifying. And I can't wait to talk to Draco about it all later tonight.

The students enter the exam hall, pass over their mobiles, prep their pencil cases and settle into the silence that is required in the conditions. I feel an enormous wave of emotion rush through me as the door closes on them. Something like pride and sadness and trepidation. Not because I think they will do poorly, but because they absolutely deserve to do amazingly. Every single one of them.

I'm walking back to my classroom, notes in hand, and a smile on my face. And I'm thinking that maybe it's okay to catch feelings for Draco Malfoy. It's ridiculous, because I barely know him. But maybe that's okay, anyway. Bill will be able to help me. I hope. I hope to God.

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 **Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**This one is a little shorter than usual, but here we are! I hope you like it - next up, the meeting with Bill.**

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Three knocks sound on my door as he rain begins to build outside. It must be Draco with the food. He said he would pick it up on his way over after work. Thank God, because I am absolutely starving. Even the mere thought of food has me salivating.

I jog down the stairs and yank open the front door, letting in the sudden gush of cool evening air, along with a splattering of raindrops onto the entrance to my home. They blister, freezing, on my skin for a moment, but it's no matter. Draco is there, out in the rain and the wind, jacket pulled tight around him. He's holding the bag of Chinese takeaway like some sort of ritualistic offering. It smells _incredible_ and makes me smile. He really is a life-saver. I can't even describe how hungry I am and how much I have been craving this level of sugary-sweet-sour-crappy-dinner type of yum.

Also, him. Of course. Because, you know, friendship. Ah, whatever. I don't need to explain anything away.

"Am I allowed to come inside, or am I just delivering your dinner tonight?" he asks, almost laughing. I unfreeze and step aside, gesturing and profusely apologising. Draco shakes out huis damp hair and moves past me into the warmth. I close the door behind him. "It's alright. I imagine the cold air froze you and you forgot that I was _actually outside_."

It sounds mean but we both know he's joking. So I just grin and follow him into the kitchen.

"Thanks for the food," I say as he shucks off his jacket. His shirt is damp from the rain but he pays it no mind. I can't say that I do the same. Not my fault. I maintain that.

"Anytime," he replies. "Plates?"

I shift around him and we seem to work in somewhat perfect unison in preparing for the feast before us. I direct him to the crockery cupboard and take out cutlery for the both of us and whatever else he brought. As if by magic, he pulls a bottle of red wine from his pocket - nothing fancy, though, which is a relief. Either magic or not it makes me smile rather childishly. Only problem is that red wine is notorious for making me flirtatiously tipsy. Only, he doesn't know that.

"I know your preferred beverage is vodka and lemonade, but Tesco didn't have that combo," Draco admits, looking for a wine glass.

"To your left," I instruct him. He thanks me and uncorks the wine in one swift movement. "Impressive."

"Thank you," he smirks. "Long day, I fancy it and the awful food."

I scoff. "Who are you to call takeaway awful?"

Draco raises a single pale eyebrow. "As someone who has been to Asia, I can tell you that this is a poor imitation."

"That may be, but it's all I've got." This time he laughs, breaking that smooth-featured face.

Together, we peel back the wrapping on our dinner and inhale the sweet scent of diabetes in a plastic dish. There's a brief taste-test - with spoons, I promise - where we both try each other's and then decide that we make the right choice in what we ordered. The food is then piled onto our plates all at once. I very much like that he's not one of those people who will eat half later (because really, what's the point?). It's nice that, even though he has money, he's not afraid to eat a shit-ton of crappy food with an itty-bitty teacher like me. He's rich and famous - I'm sure there are a million different delicacies that he has tried; better places he could be and better things he could eat. I tell him this.

"But I would much rather have overpriced reheated chicken and a five-pound bottle of wine," he replies, shovelling food into his mouth and making me think of Ron in our previous days. Then he says something Ron would never have done. "With you, anyway. It's nice. Blaise could never appreciate something like this. I love the guy, but he can be a real snob."

The irony is amusing.

"What was so bad about today then?" I ask.

"A small budget crisis -"

"Ha! I had one of those," I butt in in my excitement. He blanches. "I am so sorry. Please continue."

"Well thanks," he laughs and continues. For a second, I almost feel guilty. "You should smile more. Anyway - it was only someone who hadn't properly assessed the cost of an investment. Boring stuff. Like I said, only small crisis. Small." Maybe he senses my curiosity. "It's all a bit dull, but I wanted to back a particular venture - something for training medical students - but whoever went out to do initial costs hadn't taken into account certain factors that could create huge future costs for us and for the client. Hermione your eyes are completely glazed over."

"They are not," I argue. "Sounds like you're just your own Dragon's Den."

"That makes it sound more interesting than it is," he says, putting down his fork for a second. "I don't know. People think it's more glamorous than it is. But let's talk about you, please."

I smile and spoon a huge pile of rice into my mouth, making Draco laugh.

"I'm an open book," I say, food gone.

"Do you watch movies?"

"Are you joking?" I ask, laughing through the next mouthful of rice. Draco raises that same derisive eyebrow at my total lack of decorum. Oh well, I don't care all that much. "Of course I watch movies. I'm not a total hermit. Why, do you _not_?"

Malfoy scoffs this time. Because of course it's totally fine for him to ask me such an idiotic question, but not for me to return it. Double standards much?

"Favourite movies then. Go."

"I have different favourites for different occasions," I say. He gestures for me to go on. "Alright. I don't like cheesy movies at all, just as a general rule. For when I'm ill, it's documentaries or action movies. Nothing too complicated, something I won't mind missing bits of. Psychological thrillers are good, and only some scary movies - and in the daylight then." Malfoy smiles pityingly. I ignore him. "I like superhero movies, but they have to be good. Sci-fi is a strong favourite, but it's gotta be specific. Rainy day movies are rom-coms."

Draco sighs.

"You know, you haven't actually named a single film," he notes.

I smack my forehead and laugh. "Damn."

"It's alright, tell me."

I pause for a second and start again. "Oh man, there are so many. I like the stuff like Arrival - you know, freaky sci-fi. And Annihilation. Marvel are all amazing, but my favourites are the phase two stuff, even though phase three is the funny one. Like that second Thor movie that everyone hates - I love it." I can tell that Draco disagrees but he doesn't say anything. "I realise, I don't watch that many movies. It's my last option of something to assuage boredom."

"I guess you don't really do bored?" he asks. I shake my head.

"How about you?"

"All the classics - Transformers, Star Wars. Gotta say, I'm more of a DC person myself." I gasp. "Sorry. Blaise always had access to the comics. Not my fault."

"You're lucky I'm not the kind of person to force you to watch every Marvel movie to get you to swap sides."

We talk like this for a while, about all manner of things, until our food is cold on our plates and the sky is so much darker outside. By this time, I've persuaded him to sit with me for a while longer - anyway, we still have wine to drink and hours to spend before the day is truly over. I can't decide how comfortable I feel about the evening, but there's nothing to be done about it all now. Now that we're settled on the sofa, TV quietly humming in the background - I don't even know what's on it, but I'm not paying attention.

"What are you looking at?" Draco asks, catching me staring at him. I shake my head, not wanting to speak and make an admission. There's this fleck of light on his cheek that casts just a strange shadow, and I can't stop looking at him. The way he smiles. The way his eyes light up when he finds something amusing - they are two different things. The way he looks when he's relaxed, arguably much better than him being stressed. Of course. The way he is him. The Draco about him is completely enthralling and certainly not in a bad way.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, breaking away my gaze. "Yeah."

"Are you comfortable? I can move if you like?" He gestures to between us. Then, as if showing that he is able to selfless in terms of couch-space, he shuffles back and sideways, giving me significantly more room to sit closer to him and stretch out back against him. For a moment, I am conflicted. Because I like him. And this is a bad idea. But then there's this voice in my head - I can't tell whether it is rational or not - that reminds me that, if Draco likes me only as a friend and I should be reciprocating those platonic feelings, then I should not care about how close I sit to him.

Even though I do care and butterflies begin to shift in my stomach at the thought of sitting closer to him. Ridiculous, I know.

So, resolving, I move closer to him. My back, against the sofa, and my shoulder, pressed into his side.

"Are you sure this is comfortable?"

"Perfectly," he replies, squeezing my shoulder. I swear, my entire body jolts. "Tell me something."

"What do you want to know?"

Unconsciously (almost) I shuffle closer to him.

There's another thing about him - he smells amazing. He's warm and gentle, though it seems like he isn't either of those things at first. Sometimes, I wonder if I got it wrong all those years ago. Then I remember that he apologised for a reason. But mostly now I totally forget everything that happened in the past. How could I not? He has made me feel safe and warm and comforted when I didn't need any of those things.

Draco shifts behind me.

"You know, something good. A funny story."

I smile. "I only have silly family stories."

"They can be the best of the best."

The story goes something like this.

About five years ago, one of my cousins had their eighteenth birthday and they had a huge barbecue. It being close family, I was invited. It was the most wildly raucous party I have encountered in my life or any stories that I have heard since. As often family parties do have, there was a lot of alcohol being distributed at a quick pace. Drunken uncles stumbled around, food was sloppily eaten. My cousin's girlfriend got so inebriated that she threw up over her dad as they drove away. My uncle was locked in a room to sober up with a cup of tea. Another uncle almost died as a family friend saved his life. Great aunts got into drinking competitions. There were 4am cigars and whisky breaks. And someone's dog managed to repeatedly steal the barbecue fodder.

By the time the story is over, Draco's body is shaking with laughter, and I'm turning around in my seat to watch him. His face is creased in mirth, eyes twinkling and tearing up. I didn't know that my storytelling skills were this impressive, but he clearly seems to think so. In this moment, more than any so far, I feel that inexplicable connection to him. He is pulling me towards him, metaphorically.

I grin up at him as his laughter quietens and then falters. He is looking at me, his face just inches from my own. It's like in a movie when the two friends realise that they are attracted to each other and the kiss is almost waiting to happen. Near-imperceptibly, his eyes glance at my lips, watching them. Neither of us are going to make the move, neither of us will close the distance between friendship and more.

Malfoy is brave enough to be the one to pull away, coughing awkwardly.

It's a little while before I can relax again, but the wine helps. Slowly, we sink into quiet conversation and even slower into a dozing sleep.

I wake again in darkness. The TV is off, having switched off in the night. There's no way for me to check the time without moving and disturbing Draco, who is sleeping. Instead of shifting off him, I remain still and hope to God that I fall asleep again. It must be the middle of the night and I am far beyond exhausted.

Of course, things don't even go as planned.

As I am closing my eyes, Draco snuffles and wakes suddenly, jolting upright and then groaning.

"Oh my, I am so sorry," he says, voice thick with tiredness. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. What time is it?"

"I'm not sure," I reply, then check the clock. "3am."

Draco groans again.

"I should get going," he murmurs, sighing heavily. He stands up and stretches.

"Stay," I request. "I'll make up the couch." He's frowning at me, maybe remembering our incident - our almost kiss. Though it wasn't really almost anything. "It won't be safe for you to drive, and a taxi isn't going to get here in good time or anything. You might as well just stay."

He nods. "Yeah, okay. That does make sense."

I get up too to fetch the blankets and whatnot for the sofa. Draco helps where he can, clearing up the remnants of our evening. There's another moment, where we are spreading the blanket over the sofa, and Malfoy is looking at me funny. It's like he's trying to figure me out, and I'm not sure what I'm hoping for. But he breaks his gaze, wishes me goodnight, and lays down in the dark as I disappear into my own bedroom.

This is why I need to talk to Bill. I have no idea what the situation is between myself and Draco Malfoy, and here's to hoping that Bill has at least some of the answers.

Suffice to say, I fall into an uncomfortable and disturbed sleep.

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 **Ta dah! Thanks for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Something of a mish-mash between social and work life for Hermione this time around. Something chill. I know, more than a month since the last upload, but maybe I'm getting better. Chapter sixteen is gonna be explosive. Look out for it! For now, enjoy!**

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 _Hey G, I'm back in London today but heading to Norwich this weekend. Still up to meet?_

Bill's text comes two days into the following week, as exam season is coming to a spectacularly successful close. It's a relief, to say the least - and in both cases. I desperately need to talk to Bill, and the kids are considerably less stressed than they were a month ago. Which means that I am also much less stressed - it's just sad that they're leaving so soon. But I still have another week to go before the year eleven students of mine bid me farewell and go off into the big, bad world. Not that I am worried about them. In fact, I have strong faith in each and every one of them, though I do understand that not all of them will turn out in academic genius.

It doesn't matter to me either way. I just want them to be happy. Urgh. God, I'm getting all mushy. Can't be crying when I turn up to see Bill.

He's standing outside the coffee shop when I arrive five minutes early - ever the coolly prompt Weasley is he. And, more obviously, as cool as even. I've never known anyone to pull off a leather jacket quite like Bill. He's like a less murderous, ginger Damon Salvatore. Not that I see him in the same way I see Damon, because Bill is like a brother to me. It's a shame that Ron was such an arse, because his entire family is absolutely delightful and I would have been lucky to be a part of it.

"You are so late," he says, grinning, as I'm approaching him. I check my watch. "Made you look. Come on, let's head inside."

He holds the door open for me. The cafe is packed, as usual. But it takes less than five minutes of random conversation about the past month to get a table set up. We order with the waitress (yes, it's that kind of cafe) and settle into some kind of comfort with each other. This place has that feel to it, though. It's got worn-wood tables, and embroidered cushions on painted-metal chairs. Light floods through the expansive window on the left hand wall and the kitchen can be seen through a hatch in the right. Chatter filters through the door when it gently clangs open, and the interior itself is never too loud, despite being stuffed with lively people.

Our coffee comes quickly too - and the cake, because it's been a wild month - and soon enough conversation turns to what's been on my mind.

"Okay, Hermione," Bill starts, leaning over his mug and piercing me with familiar eyes. "What's going on?"

I suddenly feel intimidated by him; his age and his superiority. He has the family; the wife, the job, the kids. He is so much further into his future than I am into mine. Maybe it was really silly to think he would want to hear about my problems. My _I like Draco and what should I do_ problem feels so horribly dumb. But who the heck else am I supposed to talk to? Bill has always been friendly with me and always responsible. And I'm invested in his future. Maybe he's the same with me. It just… it feels like I'm going behind Ron's back.

And yet.

"I met a guy," I say.

"A guy." He considers this. Perhaps whether to be pleased or not, or just wondering why I am telling him this information - why he needed to be in the country for this. My stomach begins to sink in the silence. Then he says, "Okay. And?"

"It's difficult to explain." I gesticulate weakly with my hands, trying to demonstrate at least a little of my confusion amongst other things. I take a gulp of scalding coffee and contemplate shovelling cake into my face to avoid this suddenly very daunting conversation. _Maybe if I waste time then I won't have to talk about it._ Which is obviously not true. Bill has his eyebrows raised at me, his hair practically on its end in his brotherly disapproval. I can just feel it radiating off him. "He's… Well, he's…" I falter.

"What's the problem?" He jumps immediately onto my uncertainty, as if he knows that there's something that's bothering me. I laugh, half-bitterly, and stick my fork into the cake with relish. "Who is he?"

"That's the problem," I say, pointing my cake-stashed fork at Bill in a moment of frustration. I shove the cake into my mouth and take a moment to relax. This is a lot more stressful than I had anticipated. Hopeful Bill gets that from my actions, but I don't blame him if not. Maybe it's my irritation with myself at dragging him here, but I don't quite feel like cake anymore. Wait, no, I do. Bill is just staring at me, analysing, totally calm and collected.

It's a little uncomfortable. I begin to feel the need to break the silence when Bill speaks again.

"Do you like him?" He stirs his coffee, breaking my gaze. I'm nervously playing with the napkin on the table. We're both just a little tense, I can feel it. "Really like him?"

"Yes."

"Do you love him?"

That damn word. It catches me off every time, like it did with Ron beforehand. Love. How can anyone ever know if it's love or just some desire to be in love? I adore Draco, and I care about him. But it's not the same kind of love as it would be in the way that I'm sure Bill means it. We haven't been romantic together, but we're on the same page and wavelength and all of that. It's hard not to compare him to Ron because it's just another type of partnership.

"I think that I know I could," I answer. Bill admonishes me with a look when I pop a sugar cube into my mouth. Then he copies and takes one of his own.

"And he's nice to you? He's a good man?"

I nod. Because he is. It's not about perspective this time, he's just _good_. I might have taken time to think about this beforehand and if maybe I had spent less time with than I have. He's nice to me - friendly, pleasant, humourous. And he's a good man - he's caring, and responsible as far as I've seen (though perhaps not in terms of alcoholic consumption on a night out). He's complex, and he's honest, and charming. And what feels like genuine.

"Then tell me who he is, and I won't judge you," Bill says. His voice is like a light in the bleary confusion of the cafe around us, and it's kindly. His words really do mean a lot, and I value his friendship greatly. "I promise."

"Sure?" I ask, almost laughing in my nervousness. Just checking, one last time. If I can't tell Bill with total faith, then maybe I can't really tell anyone. If anything, I trust that he won't tell anyone else before I let things get too far.

"Absolutely." He nods in assertion and I smile back weakly. "If he makes you happy, then I am bound to meet the poor bugger at some point. Best I know who he is now, rather than later."

I blow out a breath of anxious air, imagining the nerves leaving my body, still trying to find the exact words that are the kindest way to say that I want to be with Draco Malfoy (still so weird). But I need to be more open, maybe. And this is the first positive step in the right direction. All that stuff that people say when they're psyching themselves up to be honest. Just in case that, for the first time, Bill rebuffs me.

He waits patiently. It's almost comical.

"Draco. Draco Malfoy," I say quickly, getting it over with it. I find myself unable to look at him then, downing the rest of my coffee and staring at the clock that sits a few inches above Bill's head across the other side of the room. The coffee is unexpectedly still ridiculously hot. Damn. Christ.

"Draco Malfoy," Bill repeats, weighing up the words. I can tell that he's not exactly impressed by the tone of his voice and the concern in his eyes. Great. What have I done? "Draco Malfoy. He bullied you at Hogwarts."

"He's different now," I argue, ready to defend him. "You saw him at the wedding. I know that was ages ago, and you certainly haven't spent time with him."

Bill frowns. "That's true. He did seem to get along with people at the wedding."

"And he apologised."

"Yes, the highest quality of a man is apologising fifteen years late," Bill says, skeptical. But then he smiles, totally surprising me. "As long as he treats you right, I don't see what the problem is."

My entire body relaxes, just realising how much I needed this input; this little bit of acceptance in how I've been spending my life. Bill's acceptance and acknowledgement means so much to me. I had no idea. Well, maybe I did.

"What's the problem then?"

"Do you think they'll be mad?" I ask in response, chewing on my lip. "Because it's not about Ron, or any of the others. I don't want them to be upset or annoyed with me. Is it really selfish?"

"Not at all," he laughs genially. This is why I told Bill. He's so calm and nice about it; even while I'm doubting myself, he's picking me up. "They might be a little surprised. You know them better than I do. I suspect that someone of them might be more concerned than others," Ron, "but they love you Hermione, and they want you to be happy."

"What should I do?" My voice is quiet and uncertain which annoys me. I drink the dregs of coffee, trying to assuage feelings with caffeine. Not proactive, but it has to work somehow.

"You'll have to mention it eventually. Better to be sooner rather than later," Bill says in his deep voice. This is true. One way or another, they will find out - they'll have to - and it should be me who tells them, not anyone else.

"They won't hate me? You're sure?"

"Of course not." Bill snaps in half the biscuit on his saucer. "You're their best friend. If you like Draco," he coughs uncomfortably at saying the same, " then they'll accept you and him. I know it's a weird one, but let them forgive whatever problems as soon as they arise. Not that there will be problems," he corrects himself.

I groan and lean back against my chair because _of course there will be problems._ I mean, look at the three of us. It might not seem like it, but we've had some crazy times together, and bonds like that are either impossibly strong or impossibly fragile. I just have to hope that it's the former - although my break up with Ron may be telling of the second. It's no surprise that Harry didn't take sides, and I'm just afraid that this might tip him over the edge of that boundary.

"Draco isn't an enemy - I mean, he is if he hurts you. You don't have anything to worry about yet." Bill pauses. "Oh man, I am really messing this up. You'll be fine. Trust me, I should know."

He smiles a little sadly and I'm reminded of how Bill and Fleur got together. In spite of us disliking her to start with, we all love her to pieces now. Bill, who fell for an exchange student and then sped their way through marriage. I remember not liking her because Ron had liked her. And Ginny had just disliked her. But Fleur is a sister to all of us. So maybe all of this doesn't matter that much, because maybe everyone will love Draco just as much as we love Fleur.

It's possible that I'm getting a little ahead of myself.

"Thanks, Bill," I say.

"Anytime." He smiles then checks his watch. "Crap, I gotta head back. Will you walk with me?"

"Yeah, sure. I didn't realise you were working today."

"Always working," he says, bitterly. But he still opens the door for me on the way out and feigns the positivity that must be so hard to maintain.

The fresh is air is an incredible relief, having felt somehow so very claustrophobic even in a cafe of reasonable size. People are queuing outside, as usual, chattering with friends and family, glancing around at the sunshine that is just about peaking through the white clouds in the azure sky. Maybe it's telling someone about it that has made me feel quite so much better. Because the only problem now is waiting out to see what happens between us, and then telling Ginny and the others if something does happen. At least I am certain that I spoke to the right person, and have somehow gleaned some far better sense of perspective.

Streets race past us, and it's not long before we're almost at Surrey Street where we will part ways.

"And things are okay with Fleur?" I ask him, finally, just wanting to make sure that he really is happy. He nods in reply, though I see some level of uncertainty.

"Yeah, they will be. Once everything calms down on the other side of the pond I reckon. Soon."

"Don't wait too long," I say.

"The same to you, G - see you around! Text me if you need me."

With that, he pulls me into a hug, then sprints off to the office at the end of the road where's he's based for now. He'll be in Egypt again by Tuesday.

I wander back to Waterstones as there's still time in the day. Plus, it is absolutely the best kind of retail therapy, which tells me that I'm clearly still anxious about this whole situation. Even the thought of not having told Ron is giving my tummy aches - but maybe this is more to do with the fact that I am so aware that his reaction will be negative, unkindly so. He'll probably explode with anger and indignation.

Leanne at the desk ends up telling me about Becky Chambers coming to visit the store, and we exchange new reads. She tries to pry information about the books that the publishers have sent me, but I'm vigilant as always. Can't reveal the whole story, just a little.

The bus home takes a little longer than usual, filled with elderly people having done their daily trips out for lunch to get back in time for afternoon television. There are a few rowdy kids, but it's no dissimilar from school. At last, I'm alighting the bus, just outside the post office and towards the grubby metal bench shrouded in secondary smoke. I would never complain outright, but am equally happy to move away from the herbaceous scents.

Leavers' day comes around much quicker than I had anticipated. It feels mere moments from stepping off the bus into smoky air to wearing a funny hat to school to celebrate the year elevens. Just as every year, the students dress up as popular culture characters and laugh it off. One guy dresses up as a teacher, which is supremely hilarious. He dons a classic pantsuit and pink collared shirt, then slaps on a printed photo of the teacher's face to make sure things aren't mistaken.

The best thing about it is the picture that the two of them take together, both laughing.

"Miss Granger," Cassidy George says, quietly opening the door to my classroom, dressed like a christmas elf - odd for summer, but to each their own. "Will you sign my autograph book?"

"Oh hey, of course, yeah," I reply, smiling back at her from my stack of paperwork.

"Are you having a good day?" she asks, handing me a Winnie the Pooh autograph book. It's already got a few signatures in it with a couple others from teachers. I recognise Sammy's and find myself grinning. It's nice to have a friend at work.

"Yeah, it's been great thanks." I scribble some words in the notebook.

 _Go out in the world and be great! Thanks for being an awesome student and a pleasure to teach_

"It's weird to be leaving," Cassidy murmurs, almost looking sad. "You know, after all this time. I thought I'd be relieved to be leaving, but it's not like that at all. It's like saying goodbye to a bit of life, not just a school."

"Places have special meaning for all of us," I tell her. "My high school was - well, it was kind of crazy. But it has a great deal of meaning. It's where I met my friends, and where I learnt what I wanted to do, and all sorts of other stuff. There are just places in life that shape who you are, and high school is very often one of those places."

Cassidy nods in agreement, then she grins.

"You're still friends with people from your high school? Wasn't that like twenty years ago?"

I laugh. "My god, no. I met them when I was eleven, so only… thirteen years ago, pretty much. Feels like a lifetime ago. They're still my best friends."

"Crazy," Cassidy says, laughing too.

"Yeah, but we've all been through a lot together. Anyway, what are you going to be up to over the summer? And sixth form?"

We chatter like this for a while, just easygoing banter. It's nice. She tells me that she's going to study at Wymondham, which is great, and that over the summer her and her family are travelling around the North of England. We talk briefly about this as I have family up there. She sounds more interested than I think she is, and eventually she leaves the classroom with a final goodbye.

A couple other students drop by before the end of the day, requesting selfies and autographs and final words of wisdom before they hit the road towards their next adventure. It's sweet really, and by 3pm I'm feeling ludicrously lachrymose. It's amazing how these kids have been such a wonderful influence and how I've loved teaching them just so much. Every year has been like this, in my short time here in Hethersett - and as a teacher - and I have a feeling that every year will continue to be like this. While sad, it's actually really valuable and I have such a love for the kids and for the people who actually want to help them.

I text Malfoy before I walk back home, about how I'm disappointed that the kids are leaving. He texts back to say that his company is brokering a deal with a social housing charity. We talk for a while, swinging between various topics, before our technological profiles part, and we move onto separate activities. It's not quite lonely, but I'd rather talk to him.

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 **Ta dah! Thanks for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A little shorter, but a dramatique ending. Enjoy! Chapter 17 coming soon!**

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Halfway through yesterday afternoon, I received a text from Ginny - my phone buzzed inside the classroom desk, prompting mutters from students in the room, probably about how I should practice what I preach. In reality, it wasn't my fault and I would never condone having phones on in the classroom unless for a great reason. It just so happens that on Thursday night, Mum told me that I should turn my phone off silent just in case something happened to her or Dad in the night. She's a bit of a headcase, but I did it anyway to appease her.

Anyway, Ginny text me asking whether I wanted to go out with her and Harry, as a _welcome back to the country_ thing. Of course I did, I do. Now that they're back from their honeymoon, it feels appropriate to admit that I've missed both of them. Because I have. And I can express that by enjoying a nice meal out with my two best friends… And Ron.

Ron is Ginny's brother, and Harry's best friend, and he used to be my boyfriend, and my best friend too. Now we're in some sort of furious limbo, and being in the presence of one another tends to cause sparks - only, sparks of anger and mistrust. Basically, general disaster.

And now we're here, at dinner.

Ron and I arrived within about five minutes of each other, with me sitting down to the table first. We greeted each other pleasantly and I'm almost certain that we've been silent ever since.

The doors to the restaurant clatter open and I just know who it is. Harry and Ginny round the corner, drenched from the downpour that must have just begun outside. They shuck off jackets, revealing Ginny's LBD and Harry's smart shirt and trousers. Neither Ron or I are as dressed up as they are, but we have thankfully both made some sort of effort. In my personal opinion, you can't go wrong with a skater dress. Just mine is mid-blue, and not the sleek black that Ginny's is.

"Welcome back," Ron says to the others, standing up to shake Harry's hand and hug his sister. For a moment, I feel extraordinarily alone. These people are related, by marriage or blood. I am a total outsider here. "Great to see you again, mate."

"You too," Harry replies. He shuffles around Ron to hug me, followed by his wife.

All four of us settle down at the table.

"So," I start, "how was it?"

"Amazing," Harry and Ginny say in unison. Ginny continues alone, "It was so lovely being in all that quiet. We could be relaxed, or we could be adventurous. It was really wonderful. The villa was incredible, and everyone was so nice to us."

"They always had extra food if you asked - you would have loved it, Ron," Harry grins at his best friend.

"Sounds great," Ron mirrors him.

"There was this little place in Sorrento where we had the most delicious meal as well. We did that boat ride that you suggested, Hermione - only, Harry wasn't as much of a fan."

"Turns out I don't like boats," Harry shrugs. The famous Harry Potter, getting travel-sick while on honeymoon. Pretty amusing. "It was great though. I like limoncello."

"Strong, right?" I say. They nod. In my peripheral, I see Ron switching off. "You'd like it Ron. It's like combining whisky and lemonade."

"I'd rather have Jack and Coke," he replies, somewhat irritably. I shake it off. Just reminds me a little too much of the last few months of our very much dying relationship however long ago that was. It feels like many years, but I don't know. Perspective changes.

"Well, I say let's order a bottle of wine," Ginny announces, picking up the menu. "What do you think? Red, white?"

Things are okay for a while. The bottle of wine comes over and is doled out well between the four of us. Everyone is drinking, to get taxis home at the end of the night, as we would have done normally. This should be a celebration, but it doesn't quite feel that way. It's too tense for that, I think. Maybe the others don't feel it and I'm just over-analysing everything, but I don't know.

"Hermione, how's it been without your best bud?" Ginny asks me, grabbing the bottle to fill up my glass of red. Me and red wine is never a good idea to which many people can attest to. "What have you been up to? The kids must be off school now, right?"

"There's still another month of term, pretty much," I say, smiling weakly at her. "It's been good though. I haven't been too bored without you, thankfully. Met up with a couple friends, been out. Budget reports, reading, and marking my way through life. You know me."

"Hermione Granger, ever the dullard," Ron mutters under his breath. Then he speaks up. "What friends have you got who would meet up with you other than us?"

I scowl across the table at him.

"I have work friends, like Sammy. And people at the publishing house. And…" _Draco_ , "Other people."

"Malfoy said you guys had been getting along well lately," Harry interjects - hereafter known as, the idiot. Shit, Harry. Why? "I text him yesterday I think it was."

"You're hooking up with Malfoy?" Ron asks, incredulous, looking at me like I just picked dirt off the floor and swapped that into my breakfast as opposed to sugar. "Jesus Hermione, I didn't realise things were that bad."

Thankfully, the waiter turns up at this moment, interrupting what I'm sure would have been an extremely explosive argument for no particular reason. No, I'm not hooking up with Draco. And it's also nowhere near Ron's business of enquiry or whatever. Frankly, I'm astounded - though not as much as I should be - that he should have the gall to ask such a thing, and in such a tone. It's embarrassing as well. Sometimes, I really cannot believe that I dated the man.

This would have been a great opportunity to tell the others about my actual friendship with Malfoy, though. Maybe later tonight I will tell them. Maybe. Since Bill was so adamant that I should be honest. And honesty really is supposed to be the best policy. Damn moral compass.

"The duck please," I say to the waiter and hand over my menu. He smiles at me and backs away from the table, so clearly away that he burst in at totally the wrong moment.

"So, are you hooking up with him?"

 _For fucks sake, Ronald._

"We're friends," I manage through gritted teeth.

"That's mad. You can't be friends with him."

"Ron, he really isn't all that bad," Harry attempts, but Ron slams his fist down on the table. Involuntarily, I flinch.

"Harry, this Malfoy. _Malfoy_. How are you okay with this?" he demands. "He's evil. He's a horrible, nasty person, and he deserves to be lying in a pit somewhere, not with his hands up your -"

"Ron!" Ginny hushes him. "Let's talk about something else, please. Any good TV been on recently? Hermione, have you watched much more of _Vampire Diaries_?"

I drink throughout the evening, more than I intended to. At some point, I text Draco, and I catch eyes with Ron across the table. It's like he knows and he thinks it's dirty somehow that I should have a friend that he doesn't approve of. Somewhere inside me still remains the fear of him. Not a fear of what he will do, but I always had a fear of disappointing him. He could always be incredible hurtful with words. Another of the reasons for why Ron and I are not meant to be together and why we broke up.

He drinks too. After the wine, he orders whisky, words beginning to slur and eyes beginning to blur. I can see it and he knows I can see it, but that of course would never stop him.

Ginny and Harry try really hard, bless their souls. It's just not happening tonight though. Things are far too gone for us, especially with my budding friendship with Draco.

"How's the cookie dough, Hermione?" Harry asks, tucking into a brownie for dessert.

"Great thanks," I say, though my mind is fuzzy in the dark, too-warm room. "Best thing I've tasted all week."

I swear Ron almost chokes.

"Nat butt-dialed me while we were away," Ginny says to her brother. "Can you tell her? I'm not sure she picked up my texts, but it means she might get a massive charge that she doesn't understand."

"Fine."

"You are such a joy-crusher."

Ron scowls. "What do you want from me, Gin? Nat isn't here, but my ex-girlfriend is. What am I supposed to be talking about? My relationship? Feels a bit rude. Or maybe I should talk about my ex-girlfriend and her questionable choices lately. Or should I just shut up and eat my pudding?"

"Hey man, cut it out," Harry says, frowning. "This was supposed to be a nice evening between old friends. We just got back from our honeymoon. Hermione is doing great at being a teacher. And you, Ron, have an interesting new promotion. For God's sake, let's at least be civil until the end of the day."

"Sorry I'm spoiling your night," Ron mutters.

It's a good thing I haven't mentioned that I totally have a crush on Malfoy.

My phone buzzes under the table. A glance tells me it's Draco, and also that time is dragging on into the night.

We stay in the restaurant for what feels like at least another hour. After dessert is more drinks, chattering about Harry and Ginny's plans next - turns out they want to have kids, which is something I guess I've never heard either of them speak about before. Harry is back to work on Monday though, working through a sludge of criminal reports admin to get back into the swing of the council crime department. Ginny has another week off, which is a little surprising but great for her.

"Mum and I have this spa day, which should be really fun. It's where your mum recommended last time - Clarice House or something like that?" Ginny confirms with me. "Anyway, we have this facial, and a nail thing too. I don't know, but it's next Friday. Then there's the movies, and she says we're going to cook dinner together. Not as much of a fan of that, but again I guess we'll find out."

"You and Mum in the kitchen is a bloody nightmare," Ron laughs shortly, swaying in his seat. "I remember when she tried to get you to help out with Christmas Dinner. There was absolutely no chance."

Ginny grins, oblivious to Ron's drunken state. "That was pretty funny."

We all sigh, a little in contentment, a little in sleepy stupor. It's at that point that we realise the evening is finally over and it's time to part ways.

The air is biting outside, the wind chapping cheeks and nipping at our fluttering hair. Harry runs off to grab a cab, and Ginny decides she needs to go to the loo again before going home for the night. Awkwardness between Ron and me is palpable, like a miasma, hanging in the air. I'm so angry at him for everything. For ruining our friendship. Maybe that wasn't entirely his fault, but right now I want to blame him and so I do. And I want to blame him for how shitty I feel right now.

"Why him?" Ron asks, quietly for the first time tonight. "I mean, literally anyone else. Anyone else and I could handle it. But _him?_ Malfoy. He doesn't deserve you."

"You don't know what he deserves," I say without thinking. "And anyway, it's not any of your business who I date - whether you think they're unsuitable, or evil, as you say. Not that I'm dating him. But if I was, it shouldn't matter to you."

Ron shakes his head in mirth. "Of course it matters, Hermione. I loved you. I'm always going to feel something for you. Don't you feel the same about me?"

"Only in that we're friends." I pull my jacket tighter around me, feeling the chill in the air. Knowing that Malfoy has text me gives me some warmth, but not enough to fight the argument that I know is coming from Ron any moment now. "And anyway, we're over Ron. You're with Natalie, and I can't give you what you want. So that's that."

"And if I wanted you?"

"You don't. And I don't want to be with you."

The air seems to fill with silence.

"Why's that?"

"A lot of reasons, Ronald. Let's not do this now, okay?" I ask, trying to persuade him to leave this topic alone. Because God knows how messy things get. "I don't want kids yet, and I can't be the leave-my-job mother that I think you might come to expect. And you're so angry so often. It drove me - it drives me - insane."

"You think I have an anger problem -?" _oh great here it comes._ "You, always angry at me. Because you care so fucking much. And now you're off fucking someone else, you stupid slut. Unfaithful, ungrateful, and unhappy - three words to describe Hermione Granger everybody. Let's hear it for the Brightest of Our Age! You think you're so great, don't you?"

"Ron -"

"With your fancy grades, and your books, and your jobs. Perfect Hermione. When I could tell tales about you that would make blood run cold." _He's exaggerating, of course._ "You're not perfect. I see right through you."

I shout out a laugh. He doesn't see through me. He never has, and the notion is totally ludicrous.

"I'm so surprised that Natalie hasn't broken up with you. Surely, she's had enough of your shit by now?"

"I love Nat, more than I ever loved you. And she's significantly better in bed. She knows stuff, she's not your one-trick pony. She's not vanilla, and boring, and frustrating limp like you," Ron bellows, voice at a new volume. "Fucks sake, Hermione, you make me so furious. Don't fucking cry. Jesus."

I stumble backwards from him, aching. It's nothing I haven't heard before, but it's the hatred in his voice that really gets to me. What could I have done so wrong to make him feel this way about me, really? Just then, Ginny is walking out of the restaurant, grinning broadly and looking for us. Ron and I are standing apart, him aggressive, and me backing away from him. It's not difficult to tell what's happened. She doesn't go to him, she frowns and turns to me. I smell the alcohol on her breath and wonder - for an awful split-second - whether her concern for me is genuine.

"Hermione? What's the matter?" she asks, leaning in, a little too close on my personal space.

"Nothing," I say, trying to compose myself despite my throbbing head and aching gut. "I'm going to find a cab by myself. Get home safe."

"If you're sure," Ginny says, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "Text me when you get in."

I'm nodding, walking away, not wanting to look at any of them. I can't. All I want to do is to talk to Malfoy, to get back some semblance of normality. The strangest part of that is that Malfoy is my route to normality, not my age-old school friends.

Once I'm in the taxi, far enough away from Ron to calm down, I pull out my phone and text Malfoy.

 _Hey, still awake?_

Then I read his previous message.

 _Next Marvel movie comes out in two weeks. I'm open to seeing it with you, if you'd like_

At this point, I am somewhere between laughing and crying.

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Ta dah! Thanks for reading!**


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